Gehenna
by Nevermore
Summary: Epidode 6 (following 'The Final Death'): Kindred are dropping like flies, and the cause is either a new, never-before seen threat, or something so old as to be forgotten... (Complete)
1. Gehenna, Part 1

Spelling Television, Inc. (a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment group, Inc) owns the characters of Julian, Cameron, Daedalus, Lillie, Sasha, Cash, Eddie Fiori, Sonny, and any others from the Kindred: The Embraced TV show that I may have forgotten to mention. Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.

The character of Matt Reimer springs from the mind of Eric Bowmaster.

K.T. Corben, Erica Blackwell, and Michelle Marlowe are the products of Icy Mike Molson's overactive imagination

Marcus Dietrich, a character that certainly possesses an abundance of passion and plucky spirit, was created within the rather disturbed mind of Dwayne Gamble.

All of the other characters, as well as the story, are mine.

Finally, I would like to also mention James Gleick's book, Chaos: Making a New Science, Penguin books, NY (1987), which was an invaluable resource in explaining chaos theory well enough to round out the character of Heinrich Schacter. I would highly recommend it for anyone that gets off on reading books about non-linear mathematics.

I include this small little warning for the benefit of anyone who considers himself to be an overly sensitive person. There is violence presented in this story, often graphically, there are several nasty words, and a little bit of torture. If you have a problem with this, don't read it, and don't tell me later that you found it offensive because forewarned is forearmed.

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Author's Note: This story is the fourth in a series of five. Although this story stands well on its own, it follows a several-story arc, and it is recommended that you read "Blood Under a Full Moon," "Friends and Foes," "Blood Feud," and "The Final Death" before you read this.

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Gehenna, Part 1

By

Nevermore

CHAPTER 1

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I

The first thing that San Francisco's newest visitor noticed as he walked into Albion was the perfect mood that it set for its most fervent patrons. The black latex paint on the front room's walls absorbed most of the light from the numerous neon signs in the window, lending an eerie, almost narcotic feel to the establishment. It was still early in the evening, so the bar was relatively empty, with only three small groups sitting in the front room. A young couple sat at the bar, obviously professionals unwinding after a day of work. The woman sipped lightly from a glass of wine, White Zinfandel the newcomer guessed, and the man downed what appeared to be a Scotch on the rocks while he waved his hand toward the bartender for another round. The woman turned toward the door for a brief moment and was immediately held transfixed. The man standing before her smiled briefly, accustomed to the reaction that his appearance often evoked. The woman looked him up and down, trying to decide what it was about the man that she found to be so attractive. He seemed young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and stood a shade over six feet tall, with fairly pale skin and sandy blonde hair cut to only an inch or so in length. He wore plain gray clothes that would not commonly attract any attention. She had just about given up trying to figure out what it was that held her attention when she finally figured out what it was. It was the man's eyes. They glowed in the neon light, much like a cat's would. Rather than the piercing yellow of a cat's eye, however, his eyes gave off a cool, dark blue iridescence.

Without giving the woman any more attention, the man in gray moved on, looking over the next group sitting at the bar. They appeared to be three college students from UCSF, if their sweatshirts were any indication. None seemed to pay the newcomer any mind, as they seemed to be involved in a drinking game involving a deck of cards. The man did not care to stand around and find out what the object of the game was, however. He had come to find information, not to partake in extraneous drinking games.

His gaze finally settled on the last couple at the bar. Two men sat side by side, apparently also businessmen that were unwinding after a long day. While they were obviously trying to hide it, the man in gray could tell that the two were enjoying more than simple business camaraderie. _Well_, he admitted to himself,_ I am in San Francisco, after all. The city's reputation didn't come from nowhere._ He slowly walked past the two, deciding that the people he planned to meet were likely in the back room.

As he walked over the threshold from the front and into the back of the bar, the man could sense the very feeling of the air change. There was a slight crackling around him, almost as if the air itself were alive and trying to communicate with him. The man smiled, recognizing the implications well. This was a place of magic. In this dimly lit room containing a couple of pool tables and pinball games he would be able to find men and women who could alter the very form of reality through the exertion of their will. This is where he would find the information that he sought.

In the back room he saw four people, all of them circled around one of the pool tables, their attention obviously centered on the game that they were playing. The man in gray stood for a few moments, watching, trying to discern from their behavior who the most powerful of the group was. The most accomplished one in the group would be given a wider berth than the rest, although he would also likely receive more attention than any other would. It did not take long to figure out who it was.

One of the men playing pool looked up and examined the newcomer, obviously paying attention to details that the woman at the bar had overlooked moments before. Such was to be expected, however. This man was a mage, and could see that his visitor was also a practitioner of the arcane. He smiled and extended his hand. "I am Hugh," he said smoothly. "Me and my friends are Cultists of Ecstasy. What are you looking for in our bar?"

"I need information," the visitor responded, a slight hint of an Irish lilt evident in his voice. He did not change his expression, seeming to remain completely intent on the purpose that had brought him to the dark bar. He began to look over the man in front of him, trying to determine what sort of person he was dealing with. The man was neatly dressed, but was still rather casual in appearance. Obviously, he cared more about comfort than image. His black hair was neatly trimmed, as was the thin beard that outlined his square jaw. He was young, the visitor noted, which would likely be an indication of the mage's power. Often a mage would remain relatively inexperienced until later in life. Of course, there were exceptions, as the occasional prodigy reminded all, but the man in gray doubted that the Cultist before him was one of these overachievers. Few of his school ever were.

"Really?" Hugh answered, ignoring the fact that his guest had not introduced himself. "Why don't you sit down and have a drink? We can talk about what it is that brought you to our fair city." The man in gray continued to stand, his face still unchanging.

"I do not drink," he replied. He had little time to socialize with the city's residents. There was much that he had to do.

"But you're Irish," Hugh responded, betraying the fact that he had noticed the newcomer's accent. "I thought all of you people drank."

"No," the man responded. "Not all of us." He looked over the other three people around the table, noticing that they had suddenly become rather interested in the conversation. All of them were already drunk, he noted. He was not surprised. After all, as Hugh had said, they were Cultists of Ecstasy. They were most concerned with the hedonistic pleasures that could be found all across the world.

"What are you, Muslim or something?" Hugh joked. He raised his glass of beer, offering it to the man.

"I'm Akashic," the man replied. All four Cultists looked at him in surprise. They all knew of the Akashic Brotherhood. Like the Cult of Ecstasy, the Brotherhood was one of the schools within the world of magic. Its members trained both the body and the mind, and rarely were to be found polluting the temples that they considered themselves to be. The fact that was most surprising was the man's ethnicity. Most of the Akashic Brothers were Asian, as it had been in the Far East that the school had developed. In the previous century this had slowly changed, but most in the Brotherhood were still of Asian descent.

"I met one of you once, down in Chinatown," Hugh said, once again looking the man over. "What's your name?"

"Tristan Reilly," the man answered. From the look on the faces of the Cultists, they were well aware of what he was doing in the city. He was known the world over as a vampire hunter, the scout that his two partners sent ahead to learn about their enemies. He would find the weaknesses of the kindred, and the twins would do most of the work in cleaning the city of the undead.

"You here for Luna?" Hugh asked, referring to the Ventrue prince of the city.

"My associates and I are far more interested in what happened in Oakland," Tristan said. "We know that a new prince has taken the city. We also know that he was able to do so because the anarchs that had lived there had disappeared. We want to know what happened to them."

"They left," Hugh answered, relaying the information that every member of the Bay Area's awakened community already knew. He was surprised that this man, renowned across the world for his talents in seeking out the kindred, did not know the most common of knowledge about his prey.

"No, they did not," Tristan replied, once again seeing surprise in Hugh's face. "They simply vanished. We want to know why."

"How do you know they didn't leave?" Hugh asked, doubting Tristan's information.

"We have our sources," the Irishman answered. "Find out what you can. I'll be in touch." He then turned and began to walk out of the bar. He had had enough of breathing in the second-hand smoke, and could almost visualize the insides of his lungs turning black with soot.

"What do we get out of it?" Hugh asked as Tristan left.

"Our eternal gratitude," Tristan answered, turning back momentarily. "Besides, I heard you had a problem with the kindred a little while back."

"We have an agreement with Luna now," Hugh replied. "I don't want to mess up the status quo."

"That may not be necessary," Tristan said with a slightly mischievous grin. "Like I said, we're just curious. We do not necessarily plan on cleansing the city unless something serious is going on." With that he left, hoping that the Cultists of Ecstasy would have contacts that could help dig up some information. Tristan hated mysteries, especially where the kindred were concerned. In the meantime, however, he would scour the city to find the other two contacts that he had been advised to locate.

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II

Jenni walked up to the door of the Place Pigalle and glanced toward the motorcycles parked by the sidewalk outside. One she immediately identified as Cash's, while the other she suspected was Jana's. She did not know for sure, however, and she decided that she needed to know. The child opened the front door of the club and walked in slowly, expecting to be stopped by one of the bar's employees. She was not disappointed. She had taken no more than three steps into the club when an average sized man stepped in front of her, denying her entrance.

"Aren't you a little young to be coming in here?" he asked in a condescending tone.

"Aren't you a little small to be a bouncer?" Jenni replied sarcastically. She had no desire to be held up by foolish mortals. Had anyone been close enough to the child over the past few months, they would have noticed that he confidence had increased dramatically. One could even accuse her of arrogance. However, no one had taken a strong enough interest in her to see the change. Even Sasha, her adopted mother, had all but turned her back on Jenni. The Brujah had become wrapped up in her own problems. For Sasha, the lack of a clan to run with, even one that she had never liked when it had existed, was a far greater problem than the struggle of a kindred who would forever be locked in the body of a young adolescent. Sasha did not even seem to care about Cash much anymore, though Jenni knew that in the case of Cash, appearances were definitely deceiving. She knew that Sasha missed her lover greatly. Jenni found it amusing that Sasha did not care enough to keep an eye on the Gangrel, however. Had she bothered, she would be seeing the view that held Jenni transfixed and disgusted. She saw Cash in the back room, holding a cue stick in one hand and Jana, one of his Gangrel, in the other.

Sickened, Jenni began to walk past the bouncer as if he were not even in the room. He put his hand on her shoulder gently, indicating that he would not allow her to enter. Jenni simply looked up at the man, her patience for the ignorance of mortals having run out.

"Get your hand off me," she ordered, locking eye contact with the man. His hand immediately left her shoulder, his eyes having glazed over. Jenni felt the same rush that she always felt when she dominated the thoughts of the kine. "Now back off and stay the hell out of my way," Jenni added, watching the bouncer take a few steps away from her. She smiled once again and walked through the front room of the club. She looked at the décor of the room, shaking her head in disappointment in the surroundings that Cash had recently started to spend time in. The front room was dominated by a green beer and wine bar that complimented the copper walls. The couches that allowed the patrons to relax were too much for the child to stomach. She missed the rowdy dives that she had spent time in when she had gone out with Cash and Sasha. She missed the good old days. As she approached the back room, however, it became obvious to her that Cash was not as sentimental.

The former primogen of the Gangrel clan stood behind Jana, leaning over her back and helping her take aim at a shot on the worn pool table in the rear of the bar. Again Jenni found herself glancing at the surroundings, and her disappointment only grew. The red walls lent an interesting contrast to the paintings that were hung, advertising the talents of one of the Bay Area's newest artists. Just two nights earlier the paintings had been displayed at a party that Lillie had sponsored. Jenni almost wretched – Cash was spending time in a Toreador bar. The child could hardly hide her distaste for what Cash had apparently become.

Cash, however, was oblivious to Jenni's presence. He slowly caressed Jana's arms under his hands as he helped her aim a shot, and felt her muscles twitch ever so slightly as she made the bank that he had advised, sending the last of the high balls into the corner pocket. She would only need to make the eight, and they would win their third straight game. Jana looked to her fellow Gangrel again for guidance, unconsciously grabbing his hand as he pointed out the best shot for her to take.

Jana had grown to greatly enjoy her time with Cash, and was coming to understand why he had the reputation that he did. Shelly described Cash as one of the most passionate kindred that had ever existed, but none of the city's Gangrel had ever seen this in their primogen. They had not known him in the days when Sasha was not present. According to Shelly, before his forbidden tryst with the Brujah woman, Cash was one of the most independent and desired kindred in California. Jana smiled as Cash sneaked a look at her out of the corner of his eye. He had not meant to be caught, Jana realized. She had seen the desire in his gaze, and suddenly felt extremely special. This Gangrel, a man with an almost legendary reputation, wanted her. She was elated. She wanted to throw him to the floor then and there and bite passionately into his neck. She wished to taste his blood, to share her own blood with him. Such was the way of desire for the kindred. No longer did they desire sexual pleasure, as the mortals did. They were able to experience something far more intimate and gratifying. When blood was shared, so was the very essence of the individual. She could gain a more profound understanding of Cash's being through the sharing of blood on one occasion than most human couples could after a year of intimacy.

Cash, for his part, was similarly consumed. He pulled Jana close as he helped her gauge her shot. He put his face into her hair, smelling the soft scent of the perfume that she applied sparingly before going out for the night. He took a step back, leaving her to her own devices while she took her shot. He looked her up and down. The curves of her body were flattered by the tight, faded black jeans that she wore, along with a tight, cut off white tee shirt. She looked back to him for a brief moment before she shot, making sure that he approved of what she was doing. He gazed deeply into her green eyes, and then allowed his gaze to drift over the rest of her face. Her pale skin was accented by her red hair, cut short in the back but with long bangs that had the habit of falling into her face and covering her left eye when she laughed. His eyes drifted further, scanning her entire body and settling on the dragon belly-button ring that she wore. Jana smiled when she noticed how his eyes were wandering. Had Cash been mortal, he would have blushed, knowing he had been caught again. He was not, though, and so he simply smiled in return. He would be able to make himself appear as if he were far more calm and cool than he actually felt. He knew that image was almost everything.

Jana took the shot, gently dropping the eight into another corner, and looked at Cash with a triumphant air. Both kindred shook the hands of the mortals that they had been playing, and hugged each other in celebration.

"You want to get out of here?" Cash asked, unable to contain his desire any longer.

"We won," Jana replied. "The table's still ours. Why would we leave?" She knew well what Cash had in mind. She was aware of the fact that he wanted to share blood as much as she did. She wanted to hear him say it, though.

"We can't be alone here," Cash said, looking at the people in the back room. He turned toward the door, pulling on Jana's arm, and immediately set eyes on Jenni, who was standing in the doorway that led back to the front room of the bar.

"Jenni," Cash said, almost stumbling over the child's name. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"I don't need you to get me in to these places anymore," Jenni responded caustically. "I don't need you for anything." She looked from Cash to Jana, and the Gangrel were both struck speechless as they saw Jenni's appearance become almost sinister. "It looks like you didn't waste any time replacing Sasha," Jenni spat, her words dripping with venom. Jana's soul filled with terror in the face of the child. Never before had she felt so threatened by anything, and she could not understand why. She looked at Jenni, and suddenly understood her reaction. The child's face was innocent, as was the rest of her. She appeared to be so very young, so pure, but the emotions rolling off of her spoke of malice that one so young had no business understanding. Jenni had been forced to grow up too fast.

"Does Sasha know you're out?" Cash asked, doubting very much that the Brujah that had volunteered to be Jenni's caretaker was aware of her location.

"Probably not," Jenni replied, "but I doubt she would care. She's busy with her own things nowadays."

"Like what?" Cash asked.

"Fuck off," Jenni responded with hatred. "If you really cared, you'd be with her. You'd just rather make time with this Gangrel whore." Cash looked at Jenni in shock, not knowing how to respond. In the wake of his silence, Jenni continued. "You have no idea how good you had it, Cash," the child continued. "You could have had everything."

"I could never have been happy with Sasha," Cash replied quickly, his voice sounding as if he needed to convince himself as much anyone else.

"I wasn't talking about Sasha," Jenni said with a sly, almost seductive smile. Again Cash was struck speechless, and Jenni turned to walk out of the bar before the Gangrel could come up with a response. Jenni darted quickly through the thin crowd in the front of the club, and then out onto the street. She quickly hid, and saw Cash come out the front door with Jana closely in tow. The Gangrel both scanned the street, looking for the child. They gave up quickly however, and got on their bikes and took off back toward the Mission District.

"That could have gone better," Jenni muttered to herself as she watched the motorcycles fade off into the distance. _Still_, she thought, _he will be mine yet. I just need to make him understand just how much he wants me._

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III

Daedalus walked through the dark sewer slowly, listening intently for any sign of his friend. Though there was no light in the damp tunnel, the primogen of the Nosferatu clan was able to see clearly. The two red pinpoints of light in the sewer's gloom were the only indication of the vampire's presence, and also betrayed the fact that he had the kindred ability to see in complete darkness. Daedalus had just begun to lose hope in finding one of the last Nosferatu that still lived in San Francisco when he heard a slight noise to his left. His head spun quickly, revealing only a rat scurrying through a shallow puddle. For an instant Daedalus considered snatching up the rodent and making dinner of it, but he quickly put the thought out f his mind. He was here to find Rex. There would be time to feed later.

"Rex," Daedalus called out weakly, as if he expected no response. He listened for a few moments, and then continued on. The nightly search for the members of his clan had become custom for the Nosferatu primogen. For over three months the Nosferatu, or sewer rats as they were derisively referred to by the surface dwelling kindred, had been disappearing. Initially, Daedalus had thought that a slow exodus of his people was taking place. Such an event was not uncommon. When the Brujah had gone to war shortly after the departures began, Daedalus had assumed that some members of his clan had caught wind of the impending conflict, and had fled to safety in other cities. The apparent wisdom of this plan had been validated shortly thereafter, when Metairie, the Brujah Justicar, had shown up in the city. Something about this belief in the Nosferatu choosing to leave had never sat well with Daedalus, however. He had been alive for centuries, and he had seen migrations of the Nosferatu before. This time had been different.

Daedalus had almost gone to Julian with the problem, but at the time the prince had been struggling with the Brujah war and the presence of their Justicar. The last thing Julian Luna had needed was another problem. So Daedalus had hidden the situation, hoping it would work itself out. Now, however, he became aware that it was not working out at all. Several members of his clan had sworn they would not follow the others to wherever they had gone, but they had now also disappeared. Daedalus had become convinced that something was going on that he did not know about. He had discussed the situation with Rex, his most trusted friend within the clan, and the younger Nosferatu had eagerly volunteered to wander around the sewers and look for any sign of what had happened.

Daedalus suddenly smiled as the thought of Rex being the younger Nosferatu leapt into his mind. While it was true that Rex was indeed younger, he was himself over two centuries old. He had seen many things, and had always stood beside Daedalus, whom he considered his mentor. When Goth had returned several years earlier, threatening to take control of the clan away from Daedalus, it had been Rex that had gone to the other Nosferatu on his primogen's behalf. He convinced many to stay with their primogen, to not give in to the temptations of power that Goth had presented. Daedalus had always felt in debt to Rex for his intercession, and resolved once again to find his friend. He wandered down another tunnel, going further and further into the old areas of the sewer, catacombs that had not been seen by any mortal for over a century.

Ahead of him Daedalus suddenly saw a form on the ground, half concealed in a pool of stagnant, putrid water. He rushed ahead, his black cloak billowing out behind him. Daedalus reached the form and recognized it immediately as Rex's body. He reached down, searching for any signs of life. Though there was, of course, no pulse to find, there were several indicators that Daedalus could check. He immediately looked at Rex's eyes, and saw the blank expression of death in his friend's gaze. Had he been in torpor, the eyes would still have held a glimmer of life. It was beyond doubt, though, that Rex was dead.

Daedalus began to pore over the corpse, searching for any sign of what had killed his friend. It did not take long. Almost immediately he discovered two holes in Rex's neck, at the jugular vein. The younger Nosferatu had been fed upon by another kindred. Daedalus shuddered in horror as he realized that Rex may have been diablerized, his strength taken by his attacker. The Nosferatu primogen rose to feet and howled, releasing all of the primal rage in his soul. He wanted revenge, but he was unable to gain it. He had no idea who had committee this crime. He would need help. Daedalus lifted the body of his friend over his shoulder and began to race off, back toward the surface. He would first burn the body to protect the Masquerade, as Rex would have wished. Then he would go to the home of Julian Luna. It was obvious to Daedalus that many, perhaps all, of the disappearances had been due to the slow murder of the Nosferatu clan. Daedalus realized that he would need Julian's aid and resources. Eventually, though, he would gain vengeance for the blood of his clanmates. He swore it.

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IV

Vincenzo Gambioni walked slowly behind the hostess of the Campton Place Restaurant. Following him closely was Kristen Genetti, one of the most accomplished of his underlings. Normally, he would not have been seen in public without at least two or three bodyguards, but he knew that he was perfectly safe in Kristen's hands. _Besides_, he thought, _the meeting is in a private room_. Should things go wrong, he knew he would be more than capable of defending himself. The hostess led the couple to a small room with a round table, already occupied by four men. Vincenzo looked the group over before he sat. Two of them he recognized – Michael Morini and Eddie Farona. The other two, he knew, were bodyguards, and thus not worth any attention. The large guards looked Kristen over with obvious amusement, and Vincenzo knew that his granddaughter was probably just as amused as the two men were. No one at the table knew the extent of Kristen's talents. Had they even known half of what she was capable, she would never have been permitted to enter the building.

Vincenzo considered his two counterparts as he sat down, picking a napkin off of the table and spreading it gently on his lap. Eddie Farona, commonly known as Crazy Eddie, was the reckless head of the Santo crime family in San Francisco. Blond hair and a fair complexion betrayed Eddie's Neopolitan heritage. While he was still Italian, he was not Sicilian, and this had always been seen as a handicap in the eyes of many of the city's older crime bosses. Eddie had considered his heritage a challenge, and nothing more. The Santo family had a vise-like grip on virtually all of the so-called "soft" drug trade in the city, including marijuana, amphetamines, and LSD. A few smaller operators were tolerated, but for the best deals in the Bay Area, everyone who was anyone knew that the Santos were the people to see. Eddie had grown up without showing any significant promise. Indeed, he had been considered no more than a thug. As time wore on, the initial impressions of his character proved to be completely accurate. He had become one of the most eager and trusted trigger-men in the family. However, when the Justice Department's Agency on Organized Crime had investigated Farona's superiors, the young Eddie Farona had lost the guidance of the family's leaders' wisdom. Within two years of the supposed collapse of the family, Eddie had rebuilt the Santos' power by waging a bloody war with the Tong, the Japanese Yakuza, and the families of both of the other men in the room. He had gotten assistance from Eddie Fiori, one of the more influential mobsters in the city a few years earlier, and with Fiori's unexpected demise, Farona had been released of any obligations. He had been almost unstoppable ever since. The only thing that had prevented him from making a play for the entire city was Julian Luna, the man that had controlled Fiori. Julian would never allow a large-scale war to take place. Eddie, however, had begun to claim that there was hope. That was the reason for their meeting.

Michael Morini, unlike Farona, was more of the prototypical Italian Don. He was dark-haired and had a matching dark complexion. His deep brown eyes displayed his intelligence and ruthlessness, betraying the warm smile that he always wore to ingratiate himself to those around him. The one factor against Michael's holding of power in the Vinci family was his age – he was only twenty-eight years old. None of the Dons in Chicago or New York had supported him when he had been moved into control of the family two years earlier, but they had eventually all come around. Now he was one of the most highly regarded Dons west of the Mississippi. Only Don Gambioni himself was accorded more respect. Surprisingly, this was Vincenzo's first opportunity to meet Morini. The younger Don had been in hiding for the greater part of the last two years, as he was a marked man in the eyes of not only many of his own people, but also in the eyes of the street gang that had once been ruled over by Fiori. They had come under the control of a man known only as Cameron. With the fall of Eddie Fiori, the Vincis had attempted to get out of the life of organized crime, preferring legitimate industry. Cameron, however, would not allow the Vinci family to escape. The Vincis were well-known racketeers and professional muscle. Cameron had desired to maintain a relationship with what he considered to be useful soldiers for hire. Once Cameron had been killed, Morini had succeeded in restraining his people from hiring out to other interests, and focused the Vinci family on controlling racketeering and prostitution. Cameron's successor, a man known as Rayce, had seemed to have similar aspirations, and the Vincis, along with their Don, had acquired their freedom.

Seeing Vincenzo Gambioni for the first time, Michael Morini was suddenly aware of why everyone considered the man to be one of the greatest forces in the city. Everything about the aging Don screamed out "power." Although he appeared to be in his late fifties, perhaps even his early sixties, Vincenzo held himself proudly, standing almost six feet tall. His shoulders were wide and obviously still well muscled despite his age. He carried a cane, though it was obviously ornamental, as each of his long strides was taken with purpose and strength. The manner in which he examined the men seated at the table with him indicated how little he was impressed with them. His eyes betrayed the requisite respect that he held for the men that shared his station in life, but it was quite clear that he did not consider either of them to be his equal.

"So let's get started," Eddie said before Kristen had even sat down. Vincenzo looked at Farona with an almost dismissing glance, and waited for his bodyguard to be seated comfortably before he responded. Morini followed the lead of the older Don, mentally taking notes of everything that Gambioni did. He had already come to the conclusion that when he grew old, he would like to be seen in the same way as the head of the Gambioni family was. He knew well the history of the Gambionis. They had wrested control of all of the now-defunct De Roma family's interests, and then consolidated to control illegal gambling in the entire Bay Area. All of the other Gambioni family's interests were legitimate, and their wealth could only be guessed at.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Vincenzo finally asked Farona. "We will most likely be at this table for quite awhile, enjoying an exquisite meal. Must we rush into business? It can disturb the palate." Morini smiled as Gambioni spoke, and Farona blushed slightly. Still, however, the head of the Santo family pushed on.

"There's a lot I want to discuss with you guys in those two short hours," Eddie replied, his speech fast. "I want to make sure we cover everything."

"I assure you, we will not cover everything tonight, despite what you wish," Vincenzo replied, noting approvingly that thus far, Morini had been wise enough to hold his tongue. The head of the Vinci family would wait and see which of the other two Dons would control the situation. He apparently had no desire to split their interests three ways so early in the evening.

"What do you mean?" Eddie asked. His eyes blinked quickly, keeping pace with his words. Both of the other Dons had already decided that the rumors of Eddie's use of the family's amphetamines was probably true.

"We came here to toss around a few ideas," Vincenzo replied. "The specifics can be worked out later." He looked over to Morini again, and when the young Don nodded, Vincenzo knew that his opinion on the meeting would hold sway. Given the support of the Vinci family, Vincenzo continued. "You come here to ask for an alliance, yes?" Gambioni asked Farona. "You wish to rush headlong into another war?" His disapproving tone let Eddie know exactly where he stood with the Gambioni family, and he decided that his best chance at gaining allies would be in getting Morini to back him. Still, he knew, he would have to make a good case to Vincenzo Gambioni, lest Morini just blindly follow the older Don's example. Eddie could already see the awe in which Michael held Vincenzo.

"I wish to take back what's ours," Eddie replied quickly.

"And what is it that you consider to be yours?" Vincenzo asked.

"Everything the damned Orientals took," Eddie growled. "It all belongs to us, the Italians. We were here first."

"The Tong and the Yakuza?" Vincenzo asked, referring to the Asian organized crime syndicates in San Francisco. "One would say that your ineptitude in running your businesses led to their being able to consolidate control. That's called capitalism, Eddie. Supply and demand. Competition in the marketplace. You lost, deal with it. I don't think either the Gambioni family or the Vinci family is in a hurry to fight your lost war for you. What the Asians now hold is nothing that we want."

"Absolutely not," Morini agreed, finally breaking his silence. "Your family is in competition with these two other organizations. They control the cocaine and heroine, and you want it. My family has no interest in such things." Eddie looked from one Don to the other, trying to formulate a strategy to break the unified front that they were presenting against him. For a brief moment, he considered pulling his pistol from his pocket and shooting each of the men through the head. Perhaps their successors would be more reasonable.

The tension was broken when two waitresses came in with trays loaded with food. The Dons had ordered before arriving, and all had forgone any appetizers or salad in favor of skipping directly to the main course. Had things gone poorly, as they were quickly seeming they would, none of them wanted to be caught sitting at the table for longer than they would have liked, and none was comfortable with the faux pas of an early exit. All six people waited as the waitresses placed broiled lobster in front of Eddie, Michael, and their bodyguards. Both Kristen and Vincenzo were served huge steaks, neither one very thoroughly cooked.

"But Luna won't help out," Farona said a few moments after the waitresses had left, deciding he could still persuade at least one of the men before him. He knew that while neither man said it, the real reason for their hesitation was the fact that Julian Luna had always taken an interest in maintaining the city's peace. If he were indeed to stay out of the fighting, keeping his incredibly effective enforcers on the sidelines, both men might be willing to reconsider their decisions.

"It makes no difference," Morini reiterated. "My family is interested in going legit. We have nothing to gain by fighting this war."

"Can you guarantee that Luna will not partake?" Vincenzo asked, surprising everyone at the table with his shift in position. Farona had thought that the younger Morini would be the more likely man to want war. When Michael had declined, Eddie had begun to resign himself to the belief that the Santo family would be alone in the fight. Now he began to have hope.

"So you're interested?" Farona asked the old Don with a crafty smile.

"Simply intrigued," Gambioni replied. "I think that is a more accurate word." He would need far more than Farona's guarantee that Julian Luna would stay out of the fight. He knew more than either of the other two about Luna. First and foremost, he knew that Julian and his enforcers were vampires, that stopping them if they were to become involved would be costly both in money and lives. Luna's true nature did not frighten Gambioni, however. It simply added another variable to be considered.

"Luna hasn't met with any of us in over two years," Farona stated simply. "He's lost the heart for the business. He's retired. As far as we're concerned, Julian Luna is dead." Vincenzo smiled at the irony of the words, but sat in silence, thinking for a few moments before he spoke.

"As you say, things change," Vincenzo said. "He may indeed have retired. As my family has no one close to Luna, and I assume neither of you do either, I feel there is only one way to test you theory, Eddie."

"What did you have in mind?" Farona asked, getting excited. He could see in Vincenzo's eyes that the old Gambioni was willing to go to war. Morini could not believe that Vincenzo was ready to fight for illegal interests that his family had renounced years earlier. What neither man could guess was that the Don of the Gambioni family had his own scheme in mind, and that he would need some soldiers in order to achieve his goals.

"A string of assassinations across the city would be a nice start," Vincenzo answered, looking directly into Farona's eyes. The head of the Santo family was somewhat unnerved by Gambioni's gaze, but he held his eyes in a tense stare in return. "The targets will be ones of my choosing, Eddie, though I assure you that you will be satisfied." The old Don cut and ate a large piece of his steak, blood dripping from the meat down his chin. Vincenzo appeared oblivious to his appearance, instead seeming to relish the taste of the almost raw beef.

"Your people will do the jobs, as well?" Eddie asked. Eddie was hoping that he would not have to risk his own soldiers hitting the targets that Vincenzo chose, but he would not have been surprised if Gambioni had been presumptuous enough to plan to use the Santo family's men.

"They will all be my people," Vincenzo replied. Kristen knew that she would be the one called upon to undertake the assassinations, and she was pleased that she would again be seeing some action. It had been too long, in her opinion, since she had been able to kill.

"And what do you think will happen?" Eddie asked. He wanted to know how Vincenzo's plan would answer any questions about Luna's intentions. He realized from the looks on both Morini's and Gambioni's faces that the matter seemed obvious, and he was angry at them for being so smug in their intelligence. Once again he considered shooting the two Dons, but calmed himself down with a great expenditure of effort.

"Julian will have to call us all together," Vincenzo replied, explaining the simple plan he had come up with. "If he does not, the peace will be threatened. He would never risk that." Don Gambioni knew well the kindred law of the Masquerade, and knew that Luna would do everything in his power to keep things under control, lest too many people start poking their noses into matters that did not concern them. "If Luna takes no action against us within a week, you will have our cooperation," Vincenzo said. "If, however, his meeting takes place, you will bother us no more with your petty schemes."

"Fair enough," Farona replied, missing Gambioni's slight against his ability to formulate a worthwhile plan. All that he had heard was the agreement of the Gambioni family to his latest idea for the acquisition of power. Although the Gambioni family had always been the smallest organization in the city, they had been able to effectively defend their interests. They were generally regarded as having the finest soldiers in San Francisco.

"Then may we enjoy our meals?" Gambioni asked, tearing into his steak again.

"I don't see why not," Morini responded. Although he was nervous about the other two Italian families combining their efforts against the Asians, he had no desire to aid them. He would deal later with any long-term alliances that may grow out of the current situation. He resolved to let himself relax until such time, however. Any war against the Tong and Yakuza would be bloody, especially if Luna's people got involved. Morini was more than willing to let the other families take the casualties for awhile.

****

V

Julian Luna sat once again in front of the fire, Lillie Langtree sitting in a matching leather chair just inches from him. Although the prince was comfortable sitting a few feet from the flames, Lillie was still learning to relax. The only comfort she could derive was from Julian's presence, the one calming force in her life. It seemed that every time she turned around, there was another problem within her clan that needed to be dealt with. The artists of the city had begun to have a kind of feud, with painters and sculptors at odds, while actors and musicians never seemed to stay in the same room without expressing their beliefs that the 'talents' of the others were a sham. Petty arguments had become the norm in the artistic community, and Lillie had virtually had it with all of the temperamental artists in the city. Of course, she could not broach the subject with Julian. First of all, he would never have understood the differences that many artists felt they had from each other. In his Ventrue eyes, there was little difference between the skills of a painter and sculptor_. He would probably not even appreciate the subtle rivalries between trumpet and saxophone players_, she thought wryly. Besides, she realized that Julian had similar problems of his own. Economic warfare seemed to have broken out amongst many of the city's richer inhabitants. It would not be long, she realized, before the tension in the city reached a boiling point.

Julian looked at Lillie, oblivious to the thoughts that raced through her head. Unlike her, he was not disturbed by the current mood of the city's inhabitants. He had seen it all before. Julian Luna had been in the business world long enough to realize that things ran in cycles, and that there would be periods of incredible stability, such as during wartime production in the early forties, and times of financial war, such as the takeover-ridden eighties. His businesses, he felt, would be a constant. He had survived before, and he would again. What touched Julian most was the fact that while so much had changed recently within his city, there was relative peace.

The Brujah had been all but exterminated. Their civil war had resulted in the death of virtually every member of the clan, on both sides of the conflict. The Gangrel had broken from Julian's conclave, being more concerned with strengthening themselves from the inside rather than building a place of political power. The Tremere had been strangely silent. Patrick Collins had advised the prince that his clan would be withdrawn for awhile, seeking to experiment a slight bit with the Tremere blood magic known as Thaumaturgy. The Telemon had also been fairly aloof. Matt Reimer had been busy training several ghouls, deciding which of his soldiers he felt was worthy of embrace into the clan. His lieutenant, Magnus Horzbach, had been occupied with increasing the defenses of the Telemon compound. Word on the street was that the home of the Telemon was a fortress more formidable than the home of the prince. Julian did not doubt that this was true. As if to accent his point, he saw one of his guards walk down the hall just outside of his study. It was a Toreador. The artists had never been widely thought of as soldiers, but Julian had found them to be rather efficient. He knew, however, that being efficient was not necessarily the same as being effective. Time would tell whether or not they were actually worthwhile.

"What do you think of the guards so far?" Lillie asked Julian, herself apparently having seen Toby, the Toreador that had just walked past.

"I'm extremely impressed," Julian replied. He lied. The prince knew that Lillie took a lot of pride in the fact that her clan was responsible for the prince's safety. He saw no reason to insult her by relating his belief that while they seemed fine enough when nothing was wrong, he seriously doubted that they would do much more than slow down many of the attackers that might one day come looking for him. Still, he admitted to himself, just having the Toreador as a human shield was better than no protection at all.

"I think they're working out just fine," Lillie commented, agreeing.

_Of course you do_, Julian thought in return. _What the hell do you know about security, anyway?_ He smiled slightly at what he had wanted to say, though had successfully held back. To his amazement, Lillie seemed oblivious to his true feelings. Generally, she was able to see right through him.

"Mr. Luna?" a voice called from the doorway. Julian looked back over toward the door and saw that Toby had returned down the hall. The prince saw the somewhat distressed look on the young Toreador guard's face, and quickly had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Once again, it appeared, he had allowed himself to grow comfortable just before a crisis started in his realm.

"What is it Toby?" Julian said with a thin smile. Though he was somewhat concerned, Julian still derived amusement from the formality of the Toreador. Toby had not even set foot in the room, instead addressing the prince from the doorway. In the days of his Gangrel guards, such formality had been unheard of. Whoever was in the area would have walked right into the room and just told Julian what was going on. They would never have stayed at a respectful distance, and they certainly would never have waited for Julian to indicate that it was alright to speak with him.

Julian had always liked Toby, though. At least, he admitted silently, he liked Toby more than he liked most Toreador. The reason had probably been that Toby should never have been embraced into the Toreador clan in the first place. He was, in many ways, more like the Ventrue. He appreciated power and wanted to gain some for himself. He actually had little appreciation of the arts. He had been in Berkley, and was paying his way through law school by playing in a local band. One of the Toreador had been so impressed with his talent that she had embraced him. She had overlooked the fact that Toby was not enraptured with his music. He played only as a means to an end. He had wanted to become a rich, influential corporate lawyer. Becoming kindred had destroyed that dream, though it had certainly allowed him to build new ones. Like any Ventrue, Toby appreciated the power of money over time. He planned to be a multi-millionaire within twenty years. From Julian's experience, this would certainly be possible. He even had occasional talks with the Toreador when no one was around, counseling him in investment strategy. In all, Julian expected Toby to be one of the more influential Toreador within fifty years. The prince wanted to make sure that Toby had fond memories of his time in the Luna mansion.

"Someone is here to see you," Toby said. "He says it's rather important."

"Great," Julian said with a sigh. He had visions of Basil Romanov strutting into his home again, needing to be introduced to one or another of the Bay Area's politicians or businessmen. "Show him in," Julian instructed, turning quickly to Lillie. The Toreador primogen did not miss the sign, and stood to walk out of the room, leaving the prince to conduct his business in private. She was shocked, however, when she reached the door and almost ran into Daedalus, who appeared extremely distressed.

"What's wrong?" Lillie asked quickly. Daedalus smiled, impressed at how genuinely concerned the Toreador had sounded. He knew better, though. She wished only to gain an advantage, to find out what was going on before anyone else did. He would not treat her to the information she wanted, however.

"It is a private matter," Daedalus replied respectfully. "I'm sure you understand." The Nosferatu walked into Julian's study, not looking back to see the indignant look on Lillie's face. She was surprised that Daedalus could still see through her so easily. What she did not understand, though, was that Daedalus was no better at seeing through her than anyone else was. He simply understood that people like Lillie never changed. He would never accept the possibility that she could care about anyone but herself. As a result, she would never be able to charm information from him unless he felt it was in his own best interests to have her know. This was not such an occasion.

Once Lillie had walked down the hall, Daedalus softly closed the door to the study. He looked at Julian for a few moments, trying to gauge his reaction, and then sat down in the chair that Lillie had vacated moments earlier.

Julian had been surprised to see Daedalus walk in, though it had explained a bit. The Toreador, so enraptured with beauty, were more affected than any of the other kindred when faced with the often gruesome appearance of the Nosferatu. Even Toby was affected by the blood enough to give pause in the face of the Nosferatu. Indeed, Julian thought upon seeing Daedalus enter, there may not be anything wrong after all. He figured the primogen might simply want to talk. When the Nosferatu had sat down, however, the prince knew that his hopes had been in vain. There was obviously something wrong, and Daedalus was finding the subject very difficult to address. Had it been otherwise, he would have begun speaking immediately. Instead, he sat and gazed at the fire. Julian knew that his friend was reciting what he would say, making sure that he chose his words perfectly.

"I have a problem, and I need your help," Daedalus finally said, breaking the silence. The Nosferatu's directness surprised the prince, and Julian found himself staring at his friend, not knowing how to respond. Daedalus had never asked for help. He was widely regarded as the strongest of the kindred in the city. Even when challenged by Goth, another extremely powerful Nosferatu, Daedalus had not requested aid from the prince. Julian had forced himself into the situation, knowing that politically it was the wiser course of action.

"What do you need?" Julian asked instantly, no hint of his surprise displayed on his face. He did not need to know what it was that Daedalus needed before he made his decision. The Nosferatu primogen was the prince's one true friend, as far as Julian was concerned. Anything that Daedalus needed, he would receive.

"My clan is disappearing," Daedalus said grimly. "There has been no trace of any of them until tonight, when I found a body."

"How many are we talking about here?" Julian asked, needing to know details before he could come up with a plan to deal with the situation.

"All of them," Daedalus replied. Julian noticed a small drop of blood form in the corner of Daedalus' eye – a teardrop. Julian had no idea how to respond. He had always known Daedalus to have a deeply emotional soul, but he had never exposed it to the outside world in such a manner. In a hundred years, Julian had never seen Daedalus cry.

"How long has this been going on?" Julian asked, hoping that a return to conversation would help divert Daedalus' attention from the pain. When the Nosferatu's eyes cleared and he obviously began thinking rationally again, Julian mentally patted himself on the back.

"For a few months," Daedalus replied. "It was just before the Brujah civil war. You asked me the night that Metairie showed up whether something was wrong, and I told you everything was fine. This was the problem that was on my mind at that time. I simply did not feel the need to include you. It was a matter for my own clan to deal with. Besides, you had enough problems."

"You still could have told me," Julian said. "It was my responsibility to look into it. I am the prince, after all." He smiled thinly, knowing that it would have been unreasonable to expect Daedalus to come to him any sooner with the problem. The Nosferatu was proud, and did not want to appear as if he needed help with any of his problems.

"What if they're all simply hiding?" Julian asked. "Could this be another situation like Goth's return? The Nosferatu disappeared from sight during that affair, as well."

"No," Daedalus replied, rejecting the prince's suggestion outright. "I would have at least heard something. There was nothing this time. They would just disappear slowly – one here, one there. It wasn't even as if there was a mass exodus from the city. It was too gradual. Something is very wrong in San Francisco, Julian."

The prince gazed deeply into the fire, as if the flames would suddenly present him with an answer to his problem. He believed the Nosferatu. Indeed, there was no reason for Daedalus to lie to him. He never had before. Still, Julian had no idea what he could do. The Nosferatu lived within the sewers below his city. He had not even known how many of them there were. How would he even know what to look for, or more importantly, where to start looking? He looked across to Daedalus again, and saw the defeated expression on his friend's face. Daedalus would need every bit of help he could offer.

"I'll see what I can do," Julian finally said. He held back his doubts, his confusion in the face of this problem. Despite the fact that Daedalus was his best friend, he would not reveal his limitations to him. Only Archon had been permitted to see the weaker side of Julian Luna. With his sire now dead, Julian had no one to go to when presented with self-doubt. Still, he would never betray weakness.

"Thank you," Daedalus replied softly. The Nosferatu rose and walked briskly out of the room, not making a sound as he moved. He had seemed completely satisfied in Julian's ability to handle the situation. For a brief moment, the prince of San Francisco felt guilty for having deceived his best friend_. Such are the ways of people with power_, Julian decided. Friends were a luxury that one could not afford, as sooner or later, a man in power would have to lie even to his closest friend in the world.

Julian reached to the small, polished oak table that sat on the left side of his chair, and lifted the receiver off of the phone. He quickly dialed the number of Sonny's cell-phone, and waited for the response.

"Yeah?" came Sonny's voice after only one ring. Julian's childe knew well that few people had the number to his phone, and that any call he received would doubtlessly be extremely important. He would always answer as quickly as possible.

"Sonny, I need you check into any reports of unusual events in the city," Julian instructed. "Also, see if there have been any problems with city employees in the sewers, and check into anything that you might come up with."

"Sure thing," Sonny replied quickly.

"This is important, Sonny," Julian said. He knew it was unnecessary to say the words, as any call that Sonny received from his sire would be given utmost importance, but Julian felt the need to stress the urgency anyway. "And be discreet," the prince added, also unnecessarily. Julian then hung up the phone and gazed once more into the fire. He had a sense of foreboding, an unusually chilling dread of what was to come. He sensed that he would soon be faced with another great test of leadership. Strange, he suddenly thought. Usually, he would get a warning from Johnny Yashida, the Telemon harbinger of doom, before one of the city's great crises. Perhaps things were not as bad as he thought, he tried to tell himself.

****

VI

Johnny Yashida floored the gas of his new BMW Z3 roadster as he raced down the narrow streets that led to the Telemon Compound. The area was strictly residential, and he was certain that the wealthy residents did not appreciate his flaunting of the 25-mph speed limit, but he did not care. He was running late. He looked down at the speedometer – 93-mph. For a brief second he wondered what he would do if a child ran out in front of him. With that thought Johnny eased up on the gas a little, deciding that he had no desire to damage his car before he even had 500 miles on it.

Johnny reached the gates to the compound, and pressed the automatic door opener that he had on his dashboard. He hardly came to a complete stop as he waited for the heavy, wrought iron gate to open, and sped past the first checkpoint. As he rounded a slight curve in the drive, he could see the inner gate already opening. The guards at the inner perimeter had already looked at him through the cameras at the front wall, and knew that he would not want to be held up. By the time he reached the gate, he was able to drive straight through and up to the mansion.

Below the house, Magnus Horzbach shook his head slowly in disgust. He could not believe that the guards had opened the gate without confirming Johnny's identity, or at least giving the car a quick examination to make sure no one had him at gunpoint in order to force him into gaining them entrance. The guards would need to be spoken with.

Johnny pulled up next to Magnus, and the German looked down to see his reflection dimly reflected off of the black paint. He had to give Johnny credit for one thing – at least he bought German cars. The one compliment faded from his mind quickly, though, and he prepared himself for the discussion that he felt was long overdue. Magnus had reached the end of his patience with his blood brother.

"So where did you steal this from?" he asked as Johnny climbed out of the driver's seat. Magnus wanted to immediately put Johnny on the defensive.

"I bought this one," Johnny replied, the cheerful look on his face vanishing instantly with Magnus' insult. While Yashida was willing to admit that he was a thief, and a rather good one, he believed, he had no patience for others looking down on him because of his occupation. He knew that Magnus saw him as inferior because he was smaller and weaker than any other member of the clan. Still, he would not back down if Magnus was looking for a good argument. "I would hook you up with a good deal if only you had more than a buck fifty in your bank account." Magnus simply smiled in response. He had more money than any member of the clan except, perhaps, for Yashida, and everyone knew it. His lack of style was what Johnny had actually been attacking. While Magnus was wealthy, he had no desire to pamper himself with many of the amenities that Yashida found to be a staple of existence.

"There are a few things that I wish to discuss with you, brother," Magnus said, stressing the last word as he slowly rounded the car to come face to face with the smaller Telemon. Johnny realized immediately that he was in for an extremely serious conversation, and considered leaving. He had no desire to be serious. Magnus had come up to him, however, and Johnny knew that the German would probably not allow him to leave until he had been heard out.

"When will you be leaving San Francisco?" Magnus asked, bluntly getting to the point.

"When I get around to it," Johnny replied sarcastically, not willing to back down. He was immediately aware that he had apparently worn out his welcome, at least in Magnus' eyes, but he wanted to know how bad the situation was. More importantly, he wanted to know whether Matt also wanted him to leave.

"I have grown tired of your interference, Yashida," Magnus growled. Johnny immediately recognized that Magnus was speaking only for himself, and not for anyone else in the clan, though he was willing to admit that the German was probably not alone in his feelings. That was why Magnus had faced him alone. This was not a conversation that had been sanctioned by Matt, the primogen of the clan in the city. Knowing that official clan policy was not yet against his presence, Johnny began to grow more confident, and decided to stand up to Magnus. He had done so rarely enough, and he knew that he was in a position to do so. Siras, the head of the clan, had never fully resolved the status of the two in relation to each other. That had always irritated Magnus, who refused to accept that Johnny could be seen as his equal.

"What the hell do you mean, interference?" Johnny asked. "I'm not the one that went behind Matt's back and offered to sell weapons to both sides during the Brujah war." Johnny hoped that his accusation would stun Magnus into silence. The German had no idea that anyone had known about his scheming behind Matt's back a few months earlier. It was not a major transgression, they both knew, but it would not look good to either Matt or Siras if such a truth were discovered.

"It's funny you should mention the Brujah war," Magnus replied. "You got the primogen of our clan to enter the fighting without ever explaining to him why it was allowed. You could have gotten us all killed."

"But we're all still very much alive," Johnny replied with a smile, taking pleasure in the fact that his glibness would just further infuriate the other Telemon.

"You also assassinated Rayce without any authorization," Magnus replied, obviously growing angrier with every passing second. "Were the other primogen to find out what you did, our position would be severely jeopardized. As it is, Julian Luna can now hold that over our heads for years." Magnus waited for Johnny to reply with one of his witty remarks, and was surprised when Yashida held his tongue. It had appeared he was about to say something, but had instead remained silent. Seeing no resistance coming from his adversary, Magnus continued.

"I know what part you played in Angelica's death," Magnus said angrily. "You pushed and pushed until Siras gave you permission to extinguish her. What do you think the others would say if they ever found out about that?" Johnny revealed his surprise that Magnus had found out that Johnny had executed Angelica during the Sabbat siege of the city, but he quickly recovered.

"They would probably thank me," Johnny said evenly. "The bitch was an anarchistic terrorist that had been trained by the IRA. She had no loyalty to us. In fact, she had trained some of our own enemies, knowing full well they would put her techniques to use against us. She was a catastrophe waiting to happen. Siras had the intelligence to see that. I can't say, though, that I'm surprised you missed that detail."

"Your thievery has given the clan a bad reputation," Magnus added angrily, continuing his accusations. "You of all people should understand what image can mean in kindred society. There are people laughing at us."

"No," Johnny said quickly. "There are people laughing at you. You have to learn to loosen up."

Magnus passed on continuing the verbal exchange and instead grabbed Johnny by the throat and lifted him off of the ground. With his free hand he struck the smaller Telemon in the chest, the sickening crunch of bone betraying the fact that several of Johnny's ribs had been broken. "Do you realize that I could rip your head from your body with the greatest of ease?" Magnus said in a menacing voice. "Please, give me a reason. Do you think people would be laughing now?"

"Yeah, I do," Johnny replied with a slight grin, knowing he risked sudden death.

"Why is that?" Magnus asked smugly. The only response he received was an almost inaudible click. He looked down to see that Yashida held a sawed-off shotgun aimed directly at his heart. Magnus immediately dropped the smaller Telemon. He knew well that the shotgun Johnny had brought to bear against him contained phosphorous rounds. If Yashida had pulled the trigger at point-blank range, Magnus would have been left with a charred crater where his chest had once been.

"It didn't have to be like this, you know," Johnny said, feeling the need to diffuse any remaining anger that Magnus felt. He was afraid that the German would pull his own gun and disable him first, and then close for the kill. Johnny knew he probably would not survive such an attack. Magnus was simply too strong.

"Leave the city," Magnus said, repeating his desire to rid himself of Yashida's interference in the clan's business.

"Eventually," Johnny replied. "Rest assured, this is not my home. For now I'm just resting until Siras has a new assignment for me."

"You never relaxed here before," Magnus replied. He knew that Johnny had historically only shown up when he knew something was wrong in the city. He had always disappeared any other time he felt the need to get some down time.

"No, I didn't," Johnny agreed. "Last time I went on vacation, I wound up in New York. Spending time in Manhattan and Staten Island was not exactly therapeutic. I have no desire to go somewhere I could end up entangled in Sabbat politics again. That shouldn't happen here, so here is where I choose to relax."

"What exactly do you do that you need a vacation from?" Magnus asked, finally coming to the topic that was truly bothering him. He had always seen the relative freedom that Johnny enjoyed in the clan, while everyone else was loaded down with responsibility. He had had enough, and wanted to know why Johnny seemed to be so special.

"What do you mean?" Johnny asked, already suspecting the motives behind Magnus' question.

"What is your role in the clan?" Magnus clarified. "Why do we still have you in the clan when we've gone to great lengths to unload other dead weight, such as Butterfly and Angelica."

"Every army requires diplomats and spies," Johnny answered, choosing his words carefully. "I fulfill both needs." He knew that his response could lead Magnus to realizing a great truth, but he said the words just the same. He feared that Magnus would guess that Johnny had pushed for the death of Angelica not only because of her crimes, but also because within a few short years, she would be able to duplicate many of the skills that he himself brought to the table. He feared being made obsolete, as he would then be expendable.

"So you wander around and spy on everyone for the clan?" Magnus asked. "Are you spying on me?"

"Absolutely," Johnny answered. "I want to make sure that your actions are consistent with the goals of the clan."

"And who are you to decide what the goals of the clan are?" Magnus asked, becoming suspicious of Johnny's motives.

"I am the second child of Siras, the founder of the clan," Johnny answered. He refrained from his more boisterous answer. In many ways, Johnny knew, he was the policy maker of the Telemon clan. While it was true that Siras made all of the ultimate decisions, and had done so for the entire short history of the clan, he was subject to the information with which Johnny presented him. Yashida had not always been entirely honest with his sire, seeing value in keeping secrets. He never did so maliciously, or to purposefully manipulate his sire. He often only suppressed information temporarily, and his greatest secrets were his sources of information rather than the information itself. Still, he knew, Magnus would never understand the fine line that he was drawing.

"Remember that I am the first childe of Siras," Magnus replied. He wanted to make sure, once again, that Johnny understood his place in the clan.

"Like you'd ever let me forget," Yashida said sarcastically. "All you need to know is that I have been given a mandate from our sire, and I will follow it faithfully. My loyalty, like yours, is to my clan before all other things. Don't ever try this interrogation shit with me again." With that, Johnny bumped into Magnus as he climbed back into his car and took off back down the driveway. The irritation he had been feeling faded extremely quickly, almost too quickly. However, Yashida did not notice. Instead, he thought about where he would be able to meet up with Uiko and Mason. He also wanted to spend time with Michelle, but she was busy on a job, and he would have to wait until daybreak before he saw her.

Yashida reached the road and drove along at 30-mph, making sure he did not hit any late-night joggers or other random pedestrians. He had hoped to spend time with Matt that night, but that would have to wait until another time. Johnny wondered how many more chances he would have, however. K.T. had warned him the night before that his sources said something was very wrong in the Bay Area. No one had any idea what it was, only that things were not what they should have been. Johnny silently wondered if K.T. could have been any more ambiguous, but decided that he should not expect anything else. K.T. was what he was, and he had always been mysterious. Johnny looked up at the moon and wondered what could possibly be wrong in a city that had such a beautiful sky.

****

VII

Inside the dark, noiseless basement of the Tremere chantry, Mario Cabrezzi silently mouthed the words to a complex ritual. He had long been considered a prodigy among the Tremere in the study of Thaumaturgy, the warlocks' dreaded blood magic. He had finally decided to move beyond the limitations that had usually been placed upon one so young. He had heard the words of encouragement from his elders for long enough. He would finally prove his ability by creating a new ritual.

One of the most sought after goals of Thaumaturgical practitioners was to use the blood magic to block the abilities of the Tremeres' enemies. Over the centuries, the warlocks had realized the need for secrecy. Some of the oldest kindred were able to see through the facades commonly used by the Tremere, however. They were capable of looking into the very hearts and minds of the warlocks, employing telepathy and empathy against the Tremere. Mario felt that he had finally discovered a way to prevent this violation of his clan's privacy. All he needed was the courage to experiment. He finally felt as though he had it.

He walked slowly within a twenty-foot wide circle, closely examining every square inch of the floor on which he would carry out his experiment. He knew that the recently-laid cobblestones had been swept over a dozen times in preparation for his rituals, but he felt the need to make certain that there were no impurities in the area which could lead to unexpected results. Members of his clan had been destroyed by being sloppy. He would not make the same mistake. After about twenty minutes of poring over the dark stone floor, Mario was finally satisfied that the basement was prepared for his workings.

The experiment that Mario had planned would be undertaken in two steps. Before he could be certain that his new ritual was capable of erecting an impenetrable wall against empathic ability, Mario would first need to perform another ritual. This would give him the ability of empathy – he would be able to feel the emotions of those around him. The first ritual was fairly simple, he knew, and created virtually no risk for the practitioner. He began to mutter the words of the ritual, and walked over toward a silver brazier that sat on an ornate stand in the center of the room. Earlier he had placed pine chips and incense in the brazier, and with a flourish the Tremere struck a match and dropped it into the magical components, sparking a flame to life.

Mario continued chanting, and he could feel his awareness slowly expand. He sliced his wrist open with a silver stiletto, and allowed his blood to slowly drip into the fire. Immediately his head began to swim, and the only thing the Tremere could sense was the scent of the incense. He was not aware of anything else, his universe consisting of nothing more than absolute, silent blackness. He felt as if he was detached from his body in the inky darkness for hours, then felt himself snap back to reality with a shocking suddenness. He knew he had been incoherent for only moments, and grinned as he began to feel his senses return to him. The details of the room became clearer, and he could once again hear the low hum of the city that existed outside of the chantry. Along with his other sense, he also felt a sixth. He could sense emotions – the emotions of every living being anywhere within a 100-foot radius. The feeling was exhilarating at first, but then Mario began to feel the subtlety of a feeling that was present in everyone near him. He could sense irritation. Everyone that walked by the chantry on the sidewalk outside, everyone who drove by, even his own clanmates in the building, everyone seemed to be slightly on edge.

The sensation was surprising, but Mario ignored it for the time being. What was important was that the first ritual had worked. He would have to begin the second phase, which was the ultimate goal of the entire experiment. He walked around in a circle again, making certain one last time that all was prepared. Satisfied that it was, Mario walked over toward the far side of the room. On the wall were several shelves that held the components that he would need for his second ritual. He glanced quickly toward the brazier in the center of the room, making sure it was still lit. Seeing the wisps of smoke rising from the bowl, he turned back to the shelf. He gathered a jar with dark dust, a book, a bottle that contained blood, and a second brazier. Each of the items was fairly rare, but Mario did not mind. There was an element of permanence to his ritual, and that made the expense of the working worth it.

The Tremere placed the items on the floor in the center of the room, and then lifted the jar and removed the lid. Inside was obsidian dust, combined with steel powder. The dust represented the shroud of darkness and mystery that Mario wanted to throw over those who attempted to see into the souls of those of his clan. The steel powder would bring strength to the shroud, allowing it to hold fast and resist the attempts of others to break it. Mario began to slowly pour the mixture on the floor, leaving a trail as he retraced the steps that he had taken so often in the basement. He outlined a circle on the stone, leaving the lit brazier directly in the middle. He walked around the circle a second time after tracing it on the floor with the obsidian and steel, and muttered the first incantations of his ritual. He felt a slight tingling in his fingertips, alerting him to the fact that the ritual was taking effect. The Tremere grinned slightly, and then returned to his task.

Mario then walked to the center of the circle again. He removed the lit brazier from its silver stand and placed it on the floor. He then picked up the second brazier, allowing himself a moment to admire the intricate etchings that had been worked into the gold. This brazier was fashioned from the melted-down wedding bands of failed marriages, and the gold still held the residual hatred and indifference of the former owners. Mario placed the brazier on the stand and cut his wrist again, allowing a slight bit of his blood to pour into the bowl. He then licked his wrist quickly, closing the wound, and returned to his ritual. He took the book from the floor, reading over the title quickly as he placed it in the brazier. It was the collected works of poetry of a local author. The Tremere knew well that few in the world could express the emotions of the universe as well as the poets, and thus it was crucial to include elements of these most astute members of humanity. He then picked up the first brazier, and poured the pine chips into the golden bowl. There was slight crackling as the wood fell over the paper book and slowly brought its pages to life with a low flame. Mario watched the fire grow and dance along the sides of the bowl. He was almost done.

As the fire reached the brightest Mario knew it would get, he took the last remaining component from the floor. He opened the lid of the bottle, and quickly inhaled the scent of its contents. The blood inside was fresh, and smelled sweet. It had belonged to the woman that had written the book of poetry that slowly burned as part of the ceremony. Mario began chanting the final phase of his ritual, and carefully poured the full contents of the jar around the edges of the brazier. The blood sizzled as it oozed along the heated metal. Mario continued his chanting, oblivious to the singed scent that rose in the fire's smoke. He spoke the last words, and suddenly felt his empathic contact with the world around him become severed. The Tremere looked around, and smiled. He slowly walked toward the edge of his circle, knowing that would be the test of his results.

If, when he stepped outside the circle, he was once again able to make empathic contact with those around him, he would know that the barrier he had put up had been successful. He approached the edge, and then stopped, hesitant to leave the protected area. He feared that he had failed. Mario gathered his resolve, and finally stepped outside the circle. He was immediately assaulted with a menagerie of feelings from the world around him. He smiled widely, knowing he had been successful. Out of his elation came a slowly growing sense of alarm. He did not notice it immediately, but after a minute he could not deny it.

His joy was not long-lived. A new feeling quickly raced into Mario's soul, displacing the pleasure that he had felt just moments earlier. He felt on edge, as he had during the weeks leading up to his experiment with the new ritual. The success of the ritual began to feel anticlimactic, and the experience seemed strange to the Tremere. He knew, deep down inside, that he should feel pride in the wake of his accomplishment, but he felt no such emotion. Mario took a step back, walking back into his circle, and once again was assaulted by a blast of delight. The warlock was overcome with confusion as the unexpected sensation washed over him. His feelings were contradictory. On one hand he was pleased that he was once again happy, as he would have expected himself to be. On the other hand, however, the Tremere was puzzled.

Mario cautiously stepped outside the circle again, and felt his euphoria fade once more. He felt anxious, and could not understand why. He stepped back within the circle, and began to consider the problem. It was then, with a sense of horror, that he began to understand the situation. His circle had provided protection, just as he had planned that it would. However, while it had simply been intended to provide a defense against the reading of emotions, it appeared to also protect him from an assault against him, an attack against his ability to control his own feelings. Mario remembered the passers-by, and the agitation that all of them had been feeling. He remembered the others of his clan that were in the building, and the fact that they, also, had seemed on edge.

The first thought in his head was that someone was attacking the Tremere, using subtle magical effects that would cause the clan to tear itself apart. He then thought about the other clans, and realized that not only were none of them capable of such a feat, but that they were very likely affected themselves. The Gangrel had recently seen an increase in street violence with mortal gangs. Julian's Toreador guards seemed far too willing to get in a fight. The Telemon appeared to be at each other's throats. The mortal community, too, had seemed to be affected. Mario remembered having heard on the radio that the crime rate had spiked in the previous month. The police department had become concerned with road rage, which had become all too common – there had been four shootings on the Golden Gate Bridge in just over three weeks. It seemed, Mario concluded, that every one of San Francisco's residents had been affected by the magic that he had inadvertently found a defense against.

The next question that presented itself in his mind was how such magic could possibly have been utilized without anyone noticing. The only answer he could come up with was that the onset of the effect had been gradual. No one had noticed that with each passing day there seemed to be a little more irritation_. How could it have been done?_ Mario wondered. He could not imagine anyone capable of such works. Only human mages could possibly affect reality on such a large scale, and he found it difficult to believe that the strain of working such an effect would not have killed the practitioner. _A group of mages, perhaps?_ Mario shook his head, knowing that he did not have the information he needed to make an educated guess as to what was happening. He would need help.

The young Tremere walked again to the edge of the circle, and braced himself for the onset of agitation that would affect him when he walked beyond the protection of his ritual. He stepped out quickly and walked up the stairs. He bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time, driving himself toward Patrick's office. He reached the door and knocked lightly. He could hear Stephen and Patrick's voices inside, and assumed that the two were in conference. It would not be proper to simply barge in, even given the circumstances. Mario waited until he was invited to enter.

"Come in," Patrick said from inside after a couple of minutes. Mario walked into the office, and saw that his suspicions had apparently been correct. Stephen was in the room with the Tremere primogen, and several papers were on the desk. Mario guessed that the pages were updates from other primogen of the clan from around the world, but he knew he would never be told for sure what was going on. He was too young.

"We have a problem," Mario stated immediately, knowing his choice of words would intrigue his elders immediately.

"What is it?" Stephen asked. "I thought you were working your ritual tonight."

"That's the problem," Mario replied. He saw the look of dread that immediately crossed the faces of the other two Tremere, and realized that he might have misspoken. Both of the other men assumed that something had gone wrong, and that they would be forced to fix the younger Tremere's mistake.

"What happened?" Patrick asked worriedly. He had already risen from his large, leather chair and was halfway around his desk.

"The ritual worked, I think," Mario replied, trying to put his elders at ease. He remembered that they were both affected by the magic that was present in the city. They would both be quick to get worked up, and he made a point to settle them down quickly. "There was simply an unexpected result."

"What?" Stephen asked, seeming intrigued.

"You have to come with me now," Mario replied, turning toward the door. "I can't simply explain it. You have to feel it for yourself."

"We have to feel it?" Patrick asked as he raced across the room and down the stairs after Mario. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Mario did not answer, and instead continued down to the basement. Patrick and Stephen followed, and were impressed when they walked into the basement and saw the neatly traced circle and the lit brazier. Mario was waiting for the two of them inside the circle.

"Come inside the circle," Mario instructed.

"Is it safe?" Patrick asked. In the back of his mind he remembered a story of a young Tremere who had failed tragically in creating a new ritual. He had become possessed by a demon, and attempted to destroy his elders. Patrick was suspicious of the situation. For all he knew, Mario had also been possessed, and he could possibly expose himself to the same fate if he walked into the circle.

"Just enter the circle," Mario repeated. His eyes seemed to be pleading, and certainly seemed to lack any malice. Patrick took a step toward the circle, and immediately felt Stephen's hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," Stephen said. "Let me go first. If something is wrong, you'll have to do something to fix it. You are the strongest warlock of us here." Patrick simply nodded in response, being more than willing to have his clanmate test the waters first.

Stephen walked into the circle, and immediately felt a change come over him. The intense, unreasoning anxiety and fear he had felt moments earlier faded quickly, almost completely. He turned to Patrick with a look of astonishment on his face, and gestured for Patrick to follow. The primogen did so, and experienced the same result.

"What the hell?" Patrick asked. "What is that? A calming effect?"

"No," Mario replied. "I think it's actually protection from an agitation effect." Both Tremere looked to the younger member of their clan in surprise, and each of them seemed to instantly arrive at the same conclusion that Mario had only minutes earlier.

"Can you duplicate this effect to protect the entire chantry?" Patrick asked. He knew that the defense of his clan was his primary responsibility. He would address any other concerns only after the safety and welfare of the Tremere had been secured.

"I'll need at least a day," Mario replied. "But yes, I think it can be done, as long as I get some help, that is."

"A mage do this?" Stephen asked. "Maybe a demon of some kind?"

"I don't know," Patrick replied. "We'll have to get in contact with our elders. Perhaps they can shed some light on the situation."

"Elders?" Mario asked, suddenly remembering something he had read years earlier. "I think I heard once that elders can affect emotions on a city-wide level."

"So it could be a mage, a demon, an elder, or something else that we don't even know of?" Stephen asked. "How should we deal with this? Can we get some other members of our clan here?"

"No," Patrick replied immediately. "We are alone here. Our superiors are already disappointed with our apparent lack of progress. The last thing they'll do is reward us with more people."

"Perhaps the time has come, then, to gain allies," Stephen suggested. "We have worked against the other clans since we arrived in the city. We might want to start working with at least one of them."

"Like who?" Patrick asked sarcastically. "Which clan would even be worth our time to approach?"

"Not the Toreador," Mario said, echoing the thoughts of his clanmates.

"The Telemon," Patrick stated. "They are strong, but seem to lack ambition and intelligence. They are the youngest and most easily manipulated of the clans, and they lack any kind of significant ties outside the city. If they feel we abuse them at all, there will be no one for them to go to with their complaint."

"Yes," Stephen responded. "The Telemon seem ideal. So what do we do?"

"You will meet with one of them," Patrick said, answering Stephen's question. "Their second in command is named Magnus, yes?" Stephen nodded in response. "I will call Reimer, and arrange for him to send Magnus to meet with you tomorrow night. You will both be going alone. Perhaps that will put their minds at ease. I don't think they particularly trust us, you know."

"I got that impression," Stephen replied with an unconcerned grin.

"Then prepare yourself for tomorrow," Patrick stated. Then he turned to Mario, his face becoming serious. "The rest of the clan will work with you to get our defenses raised. For now, though, it is late. The sun will be coming up soon. You should get some sleep."

CHAPTER 2

****

I

Toby walked quickly through the hallway of the Luna mansion, hoping that Julian would be willing to speak with the guest that had arrived moments earlier. It had been some time since a mortal had visited the prince of the city's kindred. In fact, Toby had no recollection of such a thing happening since the Toreador had taken over security. He was unsure if there was a separate set of formalities that he should observe, or whether a human should be treated much as any other guest would be. The Toreador simply shrugged in answer to his own question as he walked up to the door and knocked. The door opened immediately, and Toby stood face to face with Julian Luna.

"Yes?" the prince asked, seeming somewhat irritated.

"Someone's here to see you," Toby answered unsteadily, diverting his eyes to the floor to avoid Julian's penetrating gaze. "A human," the Toreador added, just in case such information would be considered important.

"Who is it?" Julian asked. He did not expect any mortals to be visiting him, and was somewhat intrigued. Toby hesitated before responding, and Julian simply walked past his guard and toward the front door so that he could see for himself. The prince walked out of the hallway to the top of his stairs, and looked down at the man standing just inside the entrance. The man stood about five and a half feet tall, and had a somewhat tired and unkempt appearance. He wore gray slacks and a brown sports jacket, with a brown tie that had been loosened from his neck, and he held a beaten-up brown leather briefcase. Julian could tell that the man felt uncomfortable in his surroundings, as he slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and looked around at every detail of the foyer.

"Who are you?" Julian asked quickly. He descended the stairs quickly, though smoothly, and walked right up to his visitor. Toby arrived at the top of the staircase just as Julian reached his guest, and the Toreador realized with horror that he was too far away to be of any assistance if the man attacked Julian. Toby's fears were assuaged immediately, however, when the man simply held out his hand in greeting.

"My name is Maurie Tyler," the man said pleasantly. "I'm the editor of the Times. Mr. Luna is my boss, so to speak. He owns the paper." Julian smiled with amusement. Maurie was the editor of the largest paper in the city, but he did not even know what his boss looked like. Caitlin would never have allowed such an oversight. A brief twinge of pain shot through Julian's body when he remembered his dead lover, and pushed the thoughts into the back of his head once again. He had sworn to never again think of Caitlin Byrne.

"I am Julian Luna," the prince replied, shaking Maurie's hand. The editor looked slightly embarrassed at not knowing that he had already been speaking to the man he had come to see, but Julian ignored the faux pas. "I've been meaning to meet you," the prince lied. "It's good that I finally have the opportunity. Follow me." Julian led the way back up the stairs and toward his office. While he had no desire to take the time to speak with his irrelevant guest, he had to admit that he had been given an opportunity that he felt the need to take advantage of.

The prince walked into the study and closed the door behind Maurie as he entered. Julian motioned to the two leather chairs, and the editor sat down nervously. He had heard that Luna was a good host, but he had to admit to himself that rather than feeling safe, Maurie felt as though he were being schemed against. He doubted that a good host would generally make one feel that way. Julian ignored his guest's unease, and simply walked over to a cabinet in the corner. In a series of fluid motions he produced two red wineglasses and poured the glasses half full. Then, concealing the glasses from sight momentarily, he cut his wrist slightly and allowed a couple of drops of his blood to drip into the glass of wine that he planned to offer his guest. Julian knew that once Maurie drank the blood, he would become a ghoul. The editor would become stronger, and would stop aging. Such results were not the main goal of the prince, however. The true purpose behind the blood was that by imbibing the vitae of a kindred, Maurie would begin to grow blood-bound to the one whose blood he drank. He would feel a greater sense of loyalty and affection for the prince, which was something that Julian certainly was interested in. He had bought the Times not only because it provided him with the opportunity to get word of things in the city as they happened, but also because it offered him the chance to control news as it was told. This gave him a greater opportunity to protect the all-important Masquerade when one of the city's kindred endangered it. By gaining an amount of influence over the paper's editor, he would move closer to once again achieving the original goals of his purchase.

Julian walked over to the two chairs and offered one of the glasses to his guest. Maurie was not too interested in having anything to drink, but accepted the wine anyway, out of courtesy. As he took a sip, the editor realized just how expensive a vintage his host must have offered him, and he began to relax, feeling for the first time that there was truth to Julian's reputation.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to speak about?" Julian asked, "or is this just a 'getting to know you' visit?"

"I heard you were looking into some things in the city," Maurie replied as he bent down and picked up his briefcase. He placed it on his lap and opened it. A moment later the editor produced a file and handed it to Julian. "A source of mine in the police department informed me that you were interested in disappearances in the city. That file contains all of the information that you'll probably want."

"Thank you," Julian said graciously as he took the papers. Inside, however, he was fuming. He had counted on Sonny's discretion in gathering the information. Julian made a mental note to instruct his childe again in the art and necessity of subtlety, and then started to look through the file for himself.

"The police seem to be stumped in their investigations of the disappearances of a half dozen teenage mothers and their infants within the past three weeks. You'll also see that there are records of a couple of gangs in Oakland disappearing a few months back," Maurie commented. Julian nodded, knowing that those gangs had been anarchs that had apparently deserted their turf. He was far more interested in reading about the teenage mothers. He had not heard anything about that. "There's also stuff that's too new to be in there," Maurie added. "A couple of businessmen with shady connections were abducted earlier today. I don't know if you heard about that yet." Julian shook his head, as he had not been up long enough to see the news. "Caitlin mentioned that you always took an interest in the really personal stories," Maurie commented as Julian read through the file. "She said you even helped out where you thought you could." Julian nodded in response, and continued looking over the papers.

"This is pretty thorough," Julian finally commented, noting that Maurie had added a couple of the paper's articles to the police files where he had any information that could be helpful. Maurie was about to respond when his pager started beeping. The editor looked down at his pager and then looked up at the prince, his face seeming somewhat embarrassed by the interruption.

"Could I use a phone?" Maurie asked sheepishly. "Seems something big just happened."

"Of course," Julian replied, motioning toward the same cabinet that he had been standing at a few minutes earlier. Maurie caught sight of the phone and walked over to call his office. The prince ignored the conversation that Maurie was having, knowing he could pump his employee for details once he was off the phone. Instead, he used the time to skim over more of the file in front of him.

"Sometimes it feels like this city is going to hell," Maurie said as he hung up the phone.

"What happened?" Julian asked curiously.

"Looks like a mob war might be brewing," Maurie replied as he walked over to the leather chair and picked up his briefcase. Julian bristled at the comment, instinctually wondering what the Brujah were up to. A moment later he remembered that the Brujah were no longer a significant presence in his city, and he felt the need to hear more.

"How do you know?" Julian asked.

"A Tong casino operator and a Yakuza enforcer were apparently both killed about an hour ago," Maurie replied. "It looks like one of the families might be trying to make a move."

"Any idea which one?" Julian asked as he weighed the possibilities himself. The prince was willing to guess that Crazy Eddie Farona was behind the hits, but he needed some kind of proof.

"It's too soon to know what happened," Maurie replied. "I'm sure the cops will figure it out, though."

"Sure," Julian responded absently.

"I'm sorry, but I have to get going," Maurie said. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Luna."

"And you," Julian replied. As soon as the editor was out the door Julian was on the phone, calling Sonny.

"Hello?" Sonny said as he answered his cell phone.

"What the hell is happening to my city?" Julian asked immediately.

"The families seem to be pretty pissed off," Sonny replied. "I'll find out what I can and get back to you."

"Make it fast," Julian said. "I'll be meeting with them later." The prince then hung up the phone and started to pace his office. _Yes_, he thought, _I'll have to meet with the heads of the Italian families_. It had been awhile since he had seen them_. Perhaps_, he pondered wickedly_, the time has come to remind them of just who is really in charge of San Francisco._

****

II

Magnus Horzbach walked slowly around one of the cannons that were on display on the first floor of the Fort Point National Historic site. The building had once been the fort that guarded the entrance into San Francisco's harbor. Now, no longer necessary, it stood under the Golden Gate Bridge in remembrance of times past. The large German ran his hand softly over the metal of the cannon, wondering what it would have been like to fight a war when such a weapon was considered one of the greatest assets on the field of battle. It was Civil War-era artillery, a relic from almost a hundred years before the Great War in which Magnus had fought. While planning strategy, he had not had the pleasure of limiting his tactics to considerations of light cannons, mounted cavalry, and orderly rows of infantry waiting to be cut down by .50 caliber bullets. Instead, he had been faced with surface to air defenses, infantry armed with automatic weapons, artillery with a range of miles, and the greatest advance in land warfare –armored units. Tanks had made completely obsolete anything that he was viewing at that moment. On the one hand, he was glad. Advanced weaponry was the edge that his clan needed to survive in a world where the kindred around them were older and, in many instances, physically superior. On the other hand, his sentimental side was disappointed to know that he would never do something as theatrical as ride into combat on horseback.

Magnus suddenly sensed that something was wrong, and whirled to his left, dropping to his knee as he leveled his MP5 at Stephen Jackson's head.

"You have very good ears," Jackson stated with a somewhat amused grin. "I had rather thought that I was being very quiet."

"You were," Magnus replied, lowering his weapon but not placing it back under his German Army Officer's coat. "I smelled you."

"What?" Stephen asked, obviously surprised.

"I suddenly caught a scent of cinnamon," Magnus said. "It came out of nowhere, and I knew that meant someone else had come in."

"I see," Stephen responded simply. He hid how impressed he was at the Telemon's acute senses. He remembered that he had been wearing the same black fedora the night before, when he had gone into the basement and watched Mario prepare for his ritual. Cinnamon had been one of the spell components that his clanmate had been using. Though he doubted that the Telemon could possibly have picked up the scent after such limited exposure, Stephen still locked the information away, knowing it might one day prove to be useful, though admittedly it would need to be under a fairly bizarre set of circumstances.

"What is it that you wanted to meet about?" Magnus asked, revealing a slight bit of the discomfort that he felt at being so close to one of the warlocks. Magnus was a soldier. He was more than willing to face death in battle, and feared nothing that he knew he could fight. The Tremere, however, with their blood magic, were something entirely alien to him. While he knew that he would be able to break most Tremere in half with his bare hands, he knew also that he could face unknown consequences were he to ever attempt to do so. The mystery surrounding the Tremere, constantly fostered by the members of the clan, was enough to set even a warrior like Magnus ill at ease. Stephen seemed to notice Magnus' discomfort, and chose to ignore the question at first.

"It is easy to see why you chose this location for our meeting," Stephen said, looking around the large, open first floor area of the fort. "With your clan's reputation for association with all things military, I would expect you spend much time here."

"Sometimes," Magnus replied, not wanting to satisfy the Tremere by confirming his suspicions. This had, indeed, become one of Magnus' favorite locations to be alone in the city. The fort closed at 5 p.m., which allowed for plenty of time for the staff to leave before Magnus would have ever wanted to get in. One of his ghouls worked at the fort as a park ranger that gave tours through the structure for visitors. He had provided Magnus with a key. In the months that followed, the Telemon had come to know the building very well.

"We have detected a threat in the city," Stephen said matter-of-factly, his voice conveying none of the concern that he actually possessed. The Tremere ran his hand along the same cannon that Magnus had been admiring minutes earlier, and the Telemon had to stifle the urge to bat the warlock's hand away. He found it almost blasphemous for the kindred standing opposite him to appear so familiar with a weapon that he so obviously did not understand. To Stephen, the cannon was little more than decoration, a pretty piece of metal used to add to the décor of the room. Magnus saw it for what it was – a piece of history that should be respected as such.

"You mean you have discovered a threat that has given you reason to be concerned," Magnus corrected, locking his gaze onto Stephen's eyes, looking for any reaction. He saw one, though only for a flicker in time. He saw fear. Something frightened the warlock standing before him, and the very thought made Magnus feel uneasy as well.

"It is something we have not yet identified," Stephen said. "All we can be sure of is that it is definitely of a mystical nature." Magnus' stomach sank at the words. Once again, his fears were being played upon. He did not want to have anything to do with any kind of mystical threat. He would face any enemy, so long as he would be able to hurt it. He had no idea how to injure something that he might be able to see or touch.

"Why did you come to our clan?" Magnus asked. "The Telemon are not sorcerers. We have never claimed to be. I do not see how we could be of any use to you." Magnus looked away from the Tremere, glancing toward the far wall. He saw an old-fashioned Union uniform hanging on the wall, and was suddenly struck with a new thought. "Unless, of course, you're looking for soldiers to fight the battle for you. However, I do not think we will be willing to be used in such a way." Between the glare that Magnus shot at him, and the threatening growl that hung over his German accent, Stephen was able to receive the message clearly. He knew he would have to be careful. One misspoken word could ruin the chance for the alliance that his clan's primogen desired.

"We are not looking for soldiers, at least not the way in which you mean it," Stephen replied. "There will be battle, of that we are almost certain. However, we will be right beside you, should you choose to work with us. For the time being, however, we are vulnerable. As I said, we have no idea what we are facing. We feel that our actions have thus far gone undetected. Should that change, we might need your assistance in protecting ourselves until we are able to strike back."

"So you need us to shield you?" Magnus asked, surprised that the Tremere would openly admit to being defenseless.

"No," Stephen answered sharply. "We will take care of ourselves, at least for the time being. Should things get out of control, we would like to know that we can go to you, so that we can combine our forces against a common foe."

"So you will stay on your own, unless things go badly for you," Magnus said, attempting to sum up the substance of the conversation.

"Yes," Stephen confirmed. "You will not be expected to do anything unless things go badly. At least not until it's time to strike back. By then we will have brought the other clans in on this."

"Until then it's just us, though," Magnus said.

"What could possibly stand against our two clans?" Stephen asked. "In all matters mystical, my clan is first and foremost in the city. In terms of sheer ability to cause destruction, no other clan matches yours."

Before Magnus could answer, he detected a noise coming from the floor above him. He raised his MP5 and started to look around intensely.

"What is it?" Stephen asked, confused by the German's actions. The Tremere had heard nothing, but immediately remembered the heightened senses that his newest associate had displayed earlier in the meeting.

"We are not alone," Magnus responded in a gruff voice. "Did you bring anyone with you?"

"You know I did not," Stephen answered. "That was the agreement. We were both to come here alone."

"You'd better be sure about that," Magnus replied. "Because none of my people are here. If I see anyone else, I'm filling them full of holes and asking questions later." Stephen did not respond. Instead, he simply pulled out a stiletto, holding it in his left hand while he drew a Glock 10-mm pistol with his right hand. The Telemon looked at him approvingly, and motioned for the Tremere to move closer to a wall, so that no one would be able to creep up on him from behind. Stephen nodded silently and moved toward a corner, muttering the words to a spell that would temporarily increase the potency of his blood, allowing him to perform as a kindred that was several centuries older than he himself actually was.

On Fort Point's third floor, Johnny Yashida quietly slipped in through the window that he had pried open. He shook his head slightly, disgusted at the ease with which he was able to break into a building that had once secured the entire San Francisco Bay. "I hope they don't build forts like they used to," the Telemon muttered as he closed the window behind himself. He concentrated on his eyes, sending blood to the area and causing the darkness around him to begin to glow with the faint iridescence of night vision. He smiled, happy that he appeared to have finally learned the ability from his friend, Michelle. Ever since he had almost been killed in a dark basement, Johnny had considered night vision to be extremely important. Up until that point, he had simply always relied on a penlight that he had always carried with him. As a thief, he had always been intrigued by the idea of seeing in the dark, but it had always seemed like he would be cheating. However, the combat benefits of night vision had never been apparent to him until that point. Now he knew why governments had spent so much money in developing technology that allowed their troops to se in near-total darkness.

The small Telemon looked around the room he was in, noting the rows of cots and small footlockers. He concluded that the third floor of the building had once been the soldiers' barracks. Johnny slowly made his way toward a door that led from the room, making certain that he was being completely silent. He knew that by the terms of the agreement between Magnus and Stephen, he was not supposed to be in the building. Still, Matt had insisted that he go in order to back Magnus up should anything go wrong. The Telemon primogen trusted the Tremere no more than anyone else did.

As soon as Yashida reached the door, he opened it slowly, finding a hallway outside. He looked down the hall and saw a staircase leading to the lower levels. The Telemon began to move more quickly, knowing that he had taken longer to get into the building than he had wanted to. He had assumed that there would be some kind of formidable security on a fort, and had moved toward the building more slowly than he usually would have. To his amazement, there had been no motion sensors, no lasers, no electrified fences. In fact, the Telemon had to admit that he had robbed several private homes that, in comparison to this structure, were actual fortresses.

He reached the stairs and started down, noting that he could not hear anything from below him. He found it hard to believe that Magnus and Stephen could have reached a consensus on anything in such a short period of time. For that matter, he found it hard to imagine Magnus and anyone reaching a consensus so quickly. A voice in the back of his head screamed out that something was wrong, and Johnny stopped for a moment to consider the situation. He had grown accustomed to listening to his instincts. Indeed, over the years, his instincts had often been the difference between life and death. If something were wrong, he might be wise to advance slowly, making sure he did not rush into anything that he was not ready for. On the other hand, it was possible that Magnus needed help, and that every moment's delay put his clanmate more at risk.

Yashida's thoughts were cut abruptly by a salvo of gunfire from below. A scream followed only a brief moment later, and Johnny knew immediately that it was not Magnus. His best guess was that it had been Stephen. The scream was one of pain and terror, combined into a hideous wail that shot straight to Johnny's core. He drew his Berettas and pushed his fear out of his mind as he started to run down the stairs, hoping that he would not be too late for whatever was happening below him.

"If you want revenge, you're gonna have to try a helluva lot harder than that!" Johnny heard Magnus scream from below. Another hail of bullets followed, Yashida recognizing that his clanmate had just emptied the entire clip of his MP5 in the direction of his attackers. Johnny felt as if it took forever to reach the first floor. In the moments he needed to reach the battle, several thoughts raced through his mind_. Who would attack Stephen and Magnus? Who would be stupid enough to try? What if they won? Who would be powerful enough to succeed in such an assault? What was he rushing into?_ It was the last thought that seemed to dwell in Johnny's mind for a fraction of a second longer than the others, and Johnny stopped short of the first floor, just a few steps down from the second. He listened as intensely as he could, straining to hear any noise. There was nothing. He pooled a fraction of his blood in his extremities, activating the power he had developed to move completely noiselessly, and advanced slowly down the remaining stairs, walking onto the wide-open first floor of the fort. He quickly surveyed the scene, but saw nothing. There was no movement, and still no sound.

He took a few steps into the room, and began to look more carefully at each of the shadows that lay across the room. After only a few moments, he caught sight of Stephen Jackson's body lying on the floor. It had been ripped in half at mid torso. All of Jackson's vital organs were spread out on the floor around him, the effect of decades of atrophy obvious even to one who had never studied medicine. Johnny recognized the possible threat to the Masquerade, and made a mental note to have the prince deal with the situation. He continued his search for his clanmate, and quickly found Magnus' corpse lying ten feet from Stephen's. It had been decapitated. Johnny walked up to take a closer look, and noticed strands of flesh hanging from the shoulders, and also from the neck lying four feet away. The head had obviously been torn from the rest of the body, not cut off cleanly by a sword or other sharp, cutting weapon. Johnny was wondering who or what could have possibly done such a thing when he suddenly realized that he might not be alone. Out of force of habit, he turned toward the darkest corner of the room, and caught sight of a form that vanished in front of his eyes. In a moment of revelation, everything that had been happening around the city suddenly made sense. Johnny had recognized Magnus' attacker, but realized with considerable horror that he would likely not make it out of the building alive to tell anyone.

In an action of pure, instinctual response to a threat, Johnny summoned the blood within him to activate the ability that was known to the kindred as obtenebration. It gave him the power to manipulate, and even create, shadow. It was the latter use that he employed, blanketing the entire first floor in an inky darkness that shrouded all vision. He was himself plunged into darkness, his night vision being useless against the more advanced power that he had activated. In one motion he also dropped his legs out from under himself, hitting the floor just as he felt something pass above his head. Whatever it had been had moved with incredible speed. It sounded as if a 90-mph fastball had just whizzed above him, barely missing caving in his skull. Without thinking, Johnny then activated his ability to fly, streaking up toward the ceiling, hoping he would avoid his attacker's next assault. He flew along the ceiling, back toward the stairs to the second floor. As he was floating through the air, he was confident that he would able to make it to the next floor quietly enough to avoid detection.

He was successful, and raced up the stairs, once again moving into normal darkness, where he was again able to see. He moved down the hall of the second floor, hoping he could make it to a window through which he could escape.

"Very clever," he heard someone say behind him. Johnny looked back, almost petrified with terror. He ran down the hall, using his blood to power his movements, moving more quickly than he ever had before. He saw a door at the end of the hall, and hoped that he could reach it before his pursuer. Suddenly, he felt a blur of motion move past him, and he stopped in mid-stride, almost stumbling to the floor. At the end of the twenty-foot hallway stood his assailant, grinning wickedly.

"If it's any consolation, you provided more amusement than your clanmate." Johnny heard the words in the back of his mind, but did not truly listen. Instead, his thoughts swam along, searching for the opportunity to escape. He dug his hand into his pocket as he saw his attacker move toward him, arrogantly causing fear, confident that Yashida had no escape. Johnny took his penlight from his pocket, amazed that such a simple device could do so much to give him a chance at life. He flipped the switch and dropped it, sending a slight shaft of light down the hallway. More importantly, however, was the dark shaft of shadow that accompanied it along the wall. Johnny looked at his assailant and smiled, and then simply fell into the wall, engulfed in the shadows that had been lying upon it.

Johnny heard a scream of rage behind him as his world was engulfed in darkness. He breathed a slight sigh of relief, having escaped the most direct threat. Over the years, Johnny Yashida had grown so skilled at the ability of obtenebration that he had become able to transverse the boundary between the waking world and the realm of shadows. He now stood in a border realm, adjacent to the reality in which he had lived his entire life. Here, he would be safe from Magnus' murderer, though he knew the inhabitants of shadow would beset him. Moans of agony and pain surrounded him. Every whimper of every child that had cowered underneath a blanket for fear of what lay in the shadow of the closet door could be heard all around him. He heard the screams of every woman that had been attacked by a man from the shadows. Then he heard the whispers, the threats that only children could ever hear, the words that adults attributed to the bogeyman that haunted children's imaginations. In the realm of shadow, all of this was real, and given form. Here, the sounds had teeth, and talons, and vice-like mandibles that could take the life from any that were foolish enough to leave the waking world and delve into shadow.

Johnny knew that it was all illusory, figments of his imagination given form. He was surrounded by the quintessence that gave nightmares an independent existence. By itself, it could never hurt him. Only by giving in to fear, by allowing the despair of his surroundings to reach his heart, could the Telemon be harmed. Johnny steeled his will, set upon being determined enough to brush off the madness that was not altogether uncommon for those that became strong enough to make this journey where man was not meant to go. Finally, after what seemed like half an hour of struggle, Johnny appeared on the front lawn of the fort, emerging unscathed. He shook the confusion from his mind in an instant, and took off again into the air, flying as high as he could, as fast as possible. Now that he was back in San Francisco, in his own reality, he could be killed just as Magnus had been. He needed to let someone know what he had seen. First, however, he would have to get out of the city. He knew he would not be lucky enough to escape such a foe a second time. Reason left the Telemon in the face of his terror, and Johnny Yashida resolved to get as far from San Francisco as he could before the sun rose again.

****

III

From the top of the stairs leading down into the Haven, Tristan Reilly scanned the room spread out before him, looking for anyone that matched the description that he had been given. He initially saw no one that came close, and so walked down into the club, smiling inwardly at the reaction that some of the patrons gave him. Among the mages of San Francisco, the Haven was known as the club where the kindred could all meet in peace, declared elysium by Julian Luna, the prince of the city. Had the kindred in the club known that he was a vampire hunter, their peaceful demeanors would probably have changed instantly. As it was, however, Tristan was sure that they did not know. To them, he was simply another mortal, little more than a happy meal on legs. It was this fact that amused the Irishman as he walked to the bar.

Tristan could feel several sets of eyes looking him up and down, comparing him to the other mortals that had come to the club. While it was against Luna's laws to feed inside the club, it was not at all uncommon for the kindred patrons to follow the mortals to other locations, where they could feed more discreetly.

"What can I get for you?" a woman behind the bar asked as the mage arrived at the bar. She smiled broadly as she talked, obviously flirting with her newest customer. Tristan almost grimaced, appalled by the arrogance of the woman before him. Of course, she did not know that he was aware of her true nature. In her eyes, he was a lone man in a club, probably looking to hook up with a single woman. She hoped that she would be the one he would choose, giving her an opportunity to feed later in the night. Such presumptiveness, along with the bright, revealing clothes she wore indicated that she would probably be a Toreador. Tristan allowed himself to relax slightly, not seeing her as much of a threat.

"Coffee," Tristan replied, his Irish brogue bringing a spark in the barmaid's eyes.

"You want some whiskey in that?" she asked.

"No," Tristan replied, "I'm driving." Normally, the Akashic brother would not have drank coffee, knowing that the caffeine would set his body out of the perfect balance that he normally maintained. However, given his surroundings, Tristan saw no harm in being slightly more on edge than usual. Getting relaxed in a club half-full of vampires could mean the end of his life at any moment.

"Where you driving to?' the woman asked as she poured a cup of coffee for her customer. "If you're just visiting the city, I could show you some of the sights."

"Perhaps some other time," Tristan said absently as he turned to look the room over again. A moment later, he could feel the woman's warm breath on his right ear.

"I could make your visit something to remember for all time," she whispered seductively_. Yes, definitely Toreador,_ Tristan mused. _No other clan would be so forward_. While the mage knew that he had come to the club with a well-defined purpose, he saw no harm in playing for a short while. From what he could tell, there was no sign of the man he was sent to contact. He would have to kill time somehow without drawing attention to himself.

"Well, what exactly did you have in mind?" Tristan asked under his breath as he turned back to the kindred standing behind the bar. He gazed directly into her eyes, playing the part of the confident man on the prowl.

"Why don't you come with me, and I'll show you," the woman suggested.

"I don't even know your name," Tristan responded playfully. "What kind of guy do you think I am?" The woman drew back instantly, unable to hide her surprise at Tristan's reaction. The mage knew that she had just attempted to dominate him, to subject him to her will. Though her words had been spoken as a suggestion, there had been no mistaking the fact that she had expected them to be heeded as a command. Tristan almost giggled inside, wondering what she was thinking. Of course, he knew he could simply read her mind to find out, but that would ruin the fun. He preferred to toy with her for a bit.

"My name is Chelsea," the woman said with a smile, seeming to recover her composure.

"Of course it is," Tristan replied, seeing the name as perfect for a Toreador. Somehow, it just seemed to fit the woman standing before him. He looked her over again, this time paying more attention to the details. She was wearing a red miniskirt and a lacy red bra. Over the bra she wore a black, button-down silk shirt, open halfway, giving the impression of a slight bit of modesty while all the while being more tempting because of the sporadic glimpses it allowed of what was underneath. Her hair was bleached blonde, shaved in the back with long bangs that occasionally flopped over her green eyes. Tristan found himself admiring the beauty of the woman before him, regretting the fact that she had been embraced. He wished he had been able to spend a night of passion with her, trying to forget the place that he had carved out for himself in the world. Instead, he was forced to see her as the very reason for his role.

"So what would you like to do?" Chelsea asked, noticing the way Tristan's eyes were looking her over, taking in every detail.

"Don't you care what my name is?" Tristan asked, feigning indignation.

"You didn't seem willing to give it," Chelsea said with a smile, becoming more comfortable with the verbal sparring match in which Tristan seemed to have decided to partake. "There are lots of guys who come into the city that would just as soon like to keep a low profile."

"Are you reading my mind?" Tristan asked with a smile. "I think I feel a little violated."

"Oh, when I want to violate you, you'll know it," Chelsea replied with a thin smirk. "Why don't you wait around for a little bit? I'll be getting off soon."

"Sounds great," Tristan said with as gregarious a smile as he could muster. "You getting off, that is," he added, the smile becoming a more coy, playful grin. He then stood up and walked into the main area of the club, directing himself toward one of the vacant tables. The mage would have preferred to sit in a corner, but it appeared as if the various kindred in the establishment had taken all of those seats. Apparently, even in elysium they were not completely at ease.

The mage sat down and looked over the crowd again. There were two businessmen in suits that were more fashionable in the 60's. While few would have noticed it, he picked it up as a sign that they were probably kindred. Given the relatively high price that he guessed had been paid, he concluded that the two were Ventrue. Likely they were both visiting the city, as there were no more highly placed Ventrue businessmen in the city. In San Francisco, the Ventrue derived their strength from the fact that they had the few members of their clan spread out in various government and criminal organizations.

In the far corner, Tristan focused on a group of half a dozen young men and women, all obviously underdressed for the location. Although they were neat, the blue jeans, boots, and leather jackets did not fit in with the power business suits of the mortals that came to the club to relax after a day at the office. The mage knew that he had probably found the Gangrel. He looked at each one individually, and picked out Cash from the group. He had been made well aware of the appearances of the city's primogen, and there was no mistaking the head of the Gangrel. Rather than the rough and ready appearance that many of his clan seemed to work so hard to cultivate, Cash was more than happy to look like the stereotypical pretty-boy rebel character from a mediocre Aaron Spelling drama.

Even as the mage watched, a new woman walked into the bar and up to the Gangrel table. She seemed almost as out of place as Cash did, although from the way she was treated, Tristan was willing to guess that she was also a member of the clan. The newest arrival was a shade over five feet tall, and appeared to be rather young, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. She had curly, shoulder-length black hair and, from a quick glance that Tristan had thought he caught, green eyes. Altogether, she was physically attractive, but not overly so. It was her clothes that were the true attention-getter. She wore tight black jeans with ripped knees, and a black halter-top that showed off her thin, athletic figure. To complete her ensemble, she wore a pair of black Airwalks and black leather gloves. The mage strained to listen in on the conversation that was taking place across the room, focussing on the minds of the participants. He knew he had no real chance of having his ears hear what was said, but his mind would be able to pick out the echo of the words present in the kindreds' minds.

"How's it going, Michelle?" Cash asked, referring to the newcomer.

"Fine," Michelle answered cheerily. "Any of you seen Johnny around?" Tristan picked up a definite sense of anger from Cash at the mention of the name Johnny, and became intrigued.

"Not lately," Cash responded, adeptly concealing his feelings.

"Yeah, Yashida hasn't been in yet tonight," another one of the Gangrel added.

So, they were speaking of Johnny Yashida, Tristan noted. He knew the name. He made the assumption that the woman who had just arrived was Michelle Marlowe, a Gangrel that had been known to travel with the smallest known member of the Telemon clan. Tristan wondered what Cash would have against Yashida, and allowed himself to delve into the Gangrel primogen's mind. It did not take long to find the source of the hostility. On the surface of Cash's thoughts was a memory that the Gangrel was dwelling upon. Tristan saw a man with a sword, who he recognized to be Rayce, the Brujah primogen that had reportedly been extinguished not too long ago. He saw the Brujah standing over another man whom Tristan knew to be Basil Romanov. A moment later Rayce was shot, thrown back by a surprise burst of gunfire from Julian Luna. The mage saw Luna advance on the fallen Brujah primogen, and saw him swing the Brujah's own sword down at his defeated foe. Rayce was missed by the sword, instead being thrown backward in a hail of bullets. Johnny Yashida arrived and took the head from Rayce's shoulders, then went out of his way to secretly dispose of the body.

Tristan grinned. He had been unaware of the role that the Telemon had played in the fall of the Brujah clan from the ranks of San Francisco's kindred. Not only had the warrior clan been involved, but it had also been caught. Such an act would not soon be forgotten by the primogen of the Gangrel. Tristan wondered if he would be able to make use of that rift. _After all_, he reflected_, my purpose is first to find out all I can about the kindred in the city, and then destabilize them. _ In the ensuing chaos, his allies would step in and clean up the mess quickly and brutally.

"Are you ready to go?" Chelsea asked, walking up to the table, consciously swaying her steps seductively with every step. Tristan looked up at the Toreador, surprised that he had forgotten her.

"I guess so," Tristan replied. He gave up hope of meeting his contact. From what the mage knew, if the man he was to meet did not come into the club early in the evening, it was unlikely that he would come in at all. The last thing Tristan wanted to do was sit around the Haven for hours, surrounded by vampires. No, he would instead spend some time with the alluring Chelsea, and dominate her as she had attempted to do with him. She would be put into service, reporting the movements of the more powerful kindred in San Francisco. She was a useful source of information, he thought. After all, sooner or later, every vampire in San Francisco ended up in the Haven. It would be nice to hear about it all.

As he walked out of the door, he was struck again with the disappointment that such an attractive woman had been killed and embraced. It seemed like a waste of material. Being close to her was a rush, though, he had to admit. It had been a whole week since he had last shared a woman's company. Once he was done with Chelsea, Tristan figured he would have to go out to one of the local clubs. After all, life could not be all work and no play.

****

IV

Julian approached the door to the private room he had arranged for within the Campton Place Restaurant. As soon as he had heard about the possibility of a gang war brewing right under his nose, he had realized just how much he had been ignoring the mortals of the city. It had been far too long. Of course, his oversight had not occurred without reason. He would have been remiss in his duties as prince if he had ignored a garou or Sabbat invasion, or a Brujah civil war, or the encroachment of anarchs, just to make sure that the mortals were appeased. He was confident, however, that he would be able to quickly fix the situation. The prince stopped just outside the door to check his appearance one last time. His black jacket and slacks, along with a black silk shirt and leather shoes, gave him exactly the dark, threatening appearance that he desired. He just hoped that the time he had put into choosing his wardrobe would prove useful.

Julian took a moment to gather himself, and dug deep into his kindred nature to find the strength of presence that some of his kind were renowned for. Generally, he hated to utilize such abilities, as he preferred to keep a fairly low profile. For such an occasion, however, he would want to command as much attention and respect as was possible. He grasped the doorknob confidently and turned it, entering into the room with long, commanding strides. He gave the room a cursory evaluation, noting that everyone he had invited had shown up. That much was a relief. It meant that the mortals at least remembered his reputation, and were willing to hear him out before allowing the situation to get out of hand. The Ventrue walked to the head of the table and sat down, looking the men over.

The words that Julian had heard from Archon so long ago came back into his mind_. "Control the kindred through force, but take care to manipulate the humans. Never allow the violence to start, as that could endanger the Masquerade more than anything our kind could do. There are too many humans to control once they begin fighting."_ The prince knew the wisdom of the words, and reminded himself to speak carefully through the night's meeting. He looked around the table, allowing himself a minute to consider everyone that was present.

On his left was Joey Nguyen, the head of the Tong in San Francisco. He had grown up in America after having been born in Hong Kong. He had Old World connections but knew the rules of the New World well enough to have risen to the top by the age of thirty-five. That had been four years earlier, and he had only grown more powerful in the intervening years.

Next to Joey was Masato Matsuoka, the head of the Ibe Yakuza clan in San Francisco. As usual, he was as well dressed as any man in the world. Matsuoka was probably the oldest of the mortals in the room, being sixty-five years old. He had held his position through several decades of strife, and had been the only man to be able to work with Eddie Fiori, Cameron, and Rayce. That in itself was an accomplishment worthy of note.

Seated on Julian's right was the man that Julian knew the least about – Michael Morini. The young Sicilian was the head of the Vinci family, but had not been on the scene for long enough to have developed any kind of set reputation. All Julian knew for certain was that Morini had worked hard to direct his family toward legitimate enterprise. Other than that, he was a complete enigma. The prince had members of his clan in the Vinci family, but thus far none of them had gotten close to the young Don, as there had been attempts on Morini's life from within the family. Recently his authority had been accepted more, so Julian hoped that in the coming years he would learn more of the kingpin sitting next to him. For the present, however, he would need to play his cards close to his chest.

On Morini's right was Eddie Farona. Eddie's reputation for rash behavior had made Julian initially suspect the Santo family's involvement in the assassinations that had taken place. However, his contacts had informed him that such involvement was extremely unlikely, though Eddie had certainly appeared to be willing to join the fray should the opportunity present itself. It was just such a situation that Julian had come to prevent. With Eddie ruled out as a suspect, Julian was left with the man sitting opposite him, at the end of the table.

Vincenzo Gambioni locked eyes with Julian as the Ventrue shifted his gaze toward the head of the most tightly-knit organization with which he was meeting. Although Julian had been able to infer much about the old Italian's personality over the years, he had always been deprived of inside information. Every time he successfully embraced a member of the family, the man would be killed soon after in a hit gone bad, or a freak accident, or because his loyalty had come into question. For a couple of years Julian had been willing to attribute it all to coincidence, but after losing the tenth Ventrue he had placed in the Gambioni family, he had to admit the fact that the small family was somehow able to pick out his agents. That meant, very possibly, that the Gambionis were well aware of his true nature. Should that in fact turn out to be the case, Julian had little idea of how he should react. He was almost certain that Vincenzo Gambioni had been involved somehow with the hits, though the prince had little idea why. The Gambionis had apparently gone legitimate, and had little or nothing to gain by going to war with the Tong and Yakuza. Furthermore, if they knew Julian and his associates were vampires, they should have been even more reluctant to get involved in a fight that could bring Julian's wrath down upon them. Gazing at the smug look on the large Italian's face, Julian decided that the Gambionis probably had an ace up their sleeve that he was not aware of. He would have to be cautious.

For his part, Vincenzo had to force back a smile. He could not help but be amused at the irony of the situation. Julian Luna had gathered the group of them together to meet about the actions of the Italian families in the same room in which those families had decided to oppose him just one night earlier. Vincenzo was certain that had Luna known, he would have been embarrassed beyond words. Such was the way of the self-styled 'prince of the city.' He needed to maintain the illusion that he was in complete control at all times.

"So are you going to look at us all night, or are you going to tell us why you summoned us here?" Farona asked, predictably being the one to break the silence.

"I think you know damn well," Nguyen said angrily, not hiding the fact that he suspected the rival Santo family was behind the attacks that had killed a well-placed member of his organization. "He's here to tell you to settle your punk-ass down."

"What was that?" Eddie asked, half-rising out of his chair. "You gonna make something of it, yellow-boy? You ain't shit, far as I'm concerned."

"Sit down," Vincenzo Gambioni ordered, causing Eddie to immediately slink back into his chair. Julian had to admit that he was impressed at the Don's ability to command. Now he would test his ability to follow orders.

"As Joey has said, I have indeed called you all here to discuss the events that have recently taken place," Julian said smoothly, attempting to settle the remaining tension in the room. A waitress walked in as he spoke, placing two bottles of wine on the table, white and red. She left immediately, as she had been instructed to, not bothering to pour the wine. Her job that night was to serve the food and get out of the room as quickly as possible. Privacy had been the greatest concern.

"What exactly do you plan on doing about the situation?" Matsuoka asked the prince, immediately putting him on the spot.

"I wish to determine who was behind the attacks," Julian replied. "Once that is done, we will discuss reparations. There will be no gang wars in this city." He looked at the men sitting at the table, making certain that they all understood his position.

"Who are you to tell us how to behave?" Farona challenged. "You're nothing, from what I can see. You don't have any piece of the drug trade. You have no gambling, no prostitution, no racketeering, or even some half-ass chop shop in the Mission District. What the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Julian asked, repeating the question. A broad smile spread across his face, and the prince leaned back in his chair. "You're right, I have no significant criminal interests in this city. Do you want to know what I have, Eddie?" Luna shot a penetrating stare at the Italian, and slowly leaned forward as he spoke, using his body language to accentuate his words. "I have the police. I have the courts. I have the newspapers. I have the fire departments, the television stations, the theaters, and the goddamn ice-cream man. I own more of this city than you can even imagine, you small-time shit. Your insolent delusions of grandeur are going to hurt my business, and I won't allow that. If you defy me, I'll turn against you with everything I own. Then, just when you think you have nothing left to lose, I'll add in those things that I simply influence, rather than fully own. When I'm done, all there will be is ash, and no one will even remember you existed." Julian glared at Farona, who had shrunk back from the kindred prince more and more with every word. "When I speak, you will listen," Julian instructed simply. "Start getting ideas that you can do anything you want, and I'll bury you."

"No problem," Eddie said in barely more than a whisper. "I can see your point." Gambioni shook his head in disgust at the weakness of the head of the Santo family. Secretly, he wished that Luna would try the same intimidation tactics against him. Vincenzo doubted seriously that Julian would deal too well with someone who could not be made to simply back down.

"Should you choose to work with me, rather than oppose me, I think we could arrive at a very lucrative arrangement for both of us," Julian said, beginning to settle down and open up the possibility of alliances.

"You would work with them after what they did?" Nguyen asked incredulously. "Years ago you said we could do as we will, so long as the peace wasn't threatened. The Italians destroyed the peace. They should be made to suffer."

"We do not know exactly who was behind the assassinations," Julian replied. "I came here tonight to start the process of moving past this incident. Keep in mind that I am still here. I may not have met with you for a couple of years, but I certainly remember all of you. Back off of whatever plans you have been hatching, and we can sort out all of our problems peacefully. Do you all think you can behave for the time being?" Each of the men at the table nodded in agreement, and Julian immediately stood to leave.

"Where are you going?" Matsuoka asked. "We have lots left to sort out."

"I have other pressing matters," Julian replied evenly, his tone making it obvious that he was not planning to stay for a moment longer than he thought was necessary. "I wanted to make sure you all understood my position on these events. I trust you all to abide by your word until we can meet again and finish working everything out. I feel that it would be best to give this a couple of days so that tempers can calm themselves, and we can approach the situation rationally." Julian walked to the door, not bothering to look at any of the men that remained seated. Part of him screamed that he should not trust them all behind him, that he should remain to make sure that no one got any ideas about opposing him. The arrogant voice that had grown so strong within Julian Luna in recent years reassured the prince that everything would be all right, that none of the bosses in the room would ever dare oppose him. Uncertainty continued, however, and before he left, Julian turned and faced each of the men at the table, looking for any sign that they would not abide by their agreement.

Matsuoka was the only one to respond to the prince's gaze, and he simply bowed in acquiescence. Knowing there was nothing left for him to do, but feeling more uncertain than he had before turning, Julian left, moving to his limousine as quickly as possible. The prince was reasonably sure that none of the families would take a shot at him at a peaceful meeting, but he was unwilling to take any chances, especially while he was being guarded by Toreador. He silently hoped that he had been able to achieve his objectives, but he could not be sure. Over the years, he had been able to keep the mortals in line by manipulating the Brujah to come into conflict with them in crucial areas. With the Brujah gone, however, that was no longer an option. If it came down to exerting force, Julian figured he could turn the Telemon loose on the mortal bosses, but that held problems of its own.

Since learning that part of the renowned Telemon strength derived from their elders' practice of diablerie, Julian had been hesitant to use the soldiers in any capacity that would indicate that he sanctioned their activities. True, he admitted, none of the Telemon embraced in San Francisco had ever diablerized another of their kind. Of course, their primogen, Matt Reimer, had once drank the blood of an elder in order to increase his power, but from all accounts that had been before he had learned that doing so was against kindred law. Since he had found out, he had not broken that law, which was second only to the Masquerade. _ Using the Telemon might not bring such heavy consequences after all,_ the prince mused, already trying to rationalize the decision he felt might become necessary. Still, he would need to think about the issue carefully. When the Brujah were still in the city, he could always have hoped to turn the Telemon and Brujah against each other should either of them get too powerful or insolent. With the rabble gone, the only group that Julian could feasibly use to trim the Telemon's strength was the Gangrel, and they were no longer even an official clan in the city, having no representative on the Conclave. Increasing the presence, and therefore the prestige, of the Telemon could be extremely risky. Julian Luna decided that the best course of action would be to effectively handle the mortals on his own, and hope that the situation did not begin to spin out of control.

In the back of his limousine, Vincenzo Gambioni reflected on what he had seen at the Campton Place Restaurant. The Italian bosses had both played their parts as he had expected. Morini had been completely silent and controlled, betraying nothing to Julian Luna. Indeed, had he not known better, Gambioni himself would have believed that Morini had known nothing of the attacks on the Yakuza and Tong. Eddie Farona had been just as predictable, though his behavior had been a polar opposite to that of Morini. He had played the part of the loud-mouthed fool that could not see the forest for the trees. While it had been embarrassing seeing the head of one of the Italian families make such an jackass of himself, Farona had nonetheless served a legitimate purpose. He had occupied Luna's attention, allowing Gambioni to watch as the kindred prince betrayed more than he would probably have wanted to.

Both Matsuoka and Nguyen had been too respectful of the prince, their memories apparently being longer than those of either Morini or Farona. The Asians both remembered what Luna was capable of when pressed, and were unwilling to risk raising his ire. That would have to change, Vincenzo knew, if his plans for the city were to succeed. He would simply have to push events in a certain direction.

It had been obvious to Vincenzo that Luna was concerned about the situation, despite his grandstanding. He had begun to lose touch with the mortals, as all kindred eventually did. It was, perhaps, their greatest weakness. Ever since Caitlin Byrne had been cut down in the Sabbat siege, Julian had been reclusive. Now he would have to pay the price for ignoring the activity that had been going on beneath his nose.

"So how did it all go in there?" Kristen asked, finally breaking the silence that had dominated the interior of the automobile since Vincenzo had gotten in. She had allowed him a few minutes to sort everything out in his mind, as was his custom. However, she also knew that, as also was custom, Vincenzo would want to discuss the meeting with his granddaughter.

"It went just about as I had thought it would," Vincenzo replied, his vacant stare betraying the fact that he was still considering the possibilities. Kristen gave her uncle a few more moments of thought, and then continued.

"He doesn't know we were behind the attacks, does he?" she asked curiously. There was no indication of fear in her voice, Gambioni noted. That was good. She simply wanted to know how the situation stood.

"Not for sure, but I am certain he suspects," Vincenzo replied. "Remember, ours is the only organization he has not been able to infiltrate. If something happens that he has no knowledge of, it will be natural to suspect us."

"Suspicion is not the same as knowledge," Kristen said. "The question is whether or not he will find suspicion enough reason to get involved in our affairs."

"Oh, he will probably get involved," Vincenzo answered. "Not that it will matter much. The shamans have told me that there are portents all around us, and that the spirits speak of death for the vampires. It will be our time to consolidate control of the city. The mortals are to take back their city."

"Which means that I'll be fairly busy in the coming weeks," Kristen concluded, a thin smile crossing her lips.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Vincenzo asked.

"Not at all," Kristen replied. "I live to serve the family. You know that." She looked over her uncle, noting the approving smile that spread across his face. "Where do we go now?" Kristen asked. "It looks like we have some time to kill before the next meeting."

"Yes," Vincenzo agreed. "Robbie," Vincenzo said, turning towards his chauffeur, "drive around town a bit, will you? We'll be less of a target if we keep moving."

"Sure thing, boss," Robbie replied. "There any place in particular you want me to end up?"

"Yes, L'Osteria del Forno," Vincenzo replied, referring to a small Italian restaurant that he owned on Columbus Avenue. The old Italian boss leaned back, running through the plans that he had made for that night. After a few moments he leaned forward and picked up the car phone, dialing one of the men whose permission he would need to get in order to proceed with his plans. The first, and most difficult challenge, would be to get Eddie Farona to agree to meet with Matsuoka and Nguyen, the same men he had been itching to go to war with only twenty-four hours earlier.

****

V

Just after midnight, Vincenzo Gambioni walked into L'Osteria del Forno slowly and looked over the men that had assembled in the small restaurant. As he had hoped, he was the last one to arrive at the meeting. Matsuoka, Nguyen, Farona, and Morini had already settled in at a table in the corner, each of them having a bodyguard standing behind him. Vincenzo smiled as he walked in, amused at the reaction that Kristen received from Matsuoka's and Nguyen's bodyguards. The Asians, unlike their Italian counterparts, seemed rather uneasy in the presence of the female guard. Indeed, they had more reason to be, Vincenzo thought. Asian culture seemed more willing to accept a woman's lethal potential that western culture normally did.

"I hope my staff has made you all comfortable," Vincenzo said magnanimously as he approached the table, sitting down at its head. Each of the men smiled, and Gambioni noted approvingly that each of them had sampled the wine and focaccia that had been supplied at the table. Apparently, none of them was expecting to be double-crossed at the meeting. _Very good_, Vincenzo thought. _That will make everything that much easier._

"Are you still with me?" Eddie asked Gambioni as the old Don poured himself a glass of the red wine, again being the first one to get to the business that had brought them all there.

"Relax," Vincenzo replied, leaning back in his chair. "Let us first consider the situation, Eddie," he said calmly, attempting to sooth the Santo family's Don. "As the old saying goes, only fools rush in."

"I'm sure you'd know about old sayings," Eddie replied partly under his breath, though he had spoken loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the table. Vincenzo ignored the slight and continued along his planned path.

"The question is Luna," Vincenzo stated evenly. "I know that you were all hesitant to meet with me here, especially given recent events, but I thought it best that we meet away from Luna's eyes and ears." Farona squirmed in his seat, betraying how uncomfortable he was with being in the same room as both Matsuoka and Nguyen. Only one night before he had been trying to go to war with the two Asian crimelords. Now, however, he had been directed to see the true threat – Julian Luna. He had been made to accept the fact that any move against the Yakuza or Tong would necessarily fail until Luna was put out of the way.

"I have spoken with each of you separately in the past couple of hours, suggesting a certain course of events," Vincenzo said, taking control of the meeting. "I trust you each know what I am speaking of." Each of the men in the room nodded, allowing Gambioni to continue.

"We all know that we have disputes that we wish to settle between ourselves," the Gambioni Don stated. "This may involve some bloodshed. Let's face it, sometimes war is the most efficient way of achieving one's goals. However, we cannot wage war as long as Luna is around. He has embraced the misguided concept of peace. That is not the way of those in our profession. I suggest we dispose of Mr. Luna."

"It is impossible," Matsuoka said quickly, remembering a time when he had attempted to move against Julian's mentor, Archon, thirty years earlier. That particular blunder had cost the Yakuza boss millions of dollars and the lives of several of his best assassins. Julian had received all of Archon's resources, and over the years had proven his willingness to make use of everything at his disposal. Matsuoka was more than willing to bide his time and not risk war with Luna.

"Julian Luna, in the past, replied on Eddie Fiori's gang to help him enforce the peace," Vincenzo replied. "Now Fiori is dead, as are his successors, Cameron and Rayce. That gang is now defunct. Julian has no strong backing, no soldiers." Vincenzo knew he lied as he spoke, admitting only to himself that as long as the clans known as the Gangrel and Telemon were in the city, Julian would have access to soldiers. However, the only clan that these men had ever opposed before had been Fiori's Brujah. It would not be difficult to convince them that Julian was relatively vulnerable.

"So you want us to combine our strengths against Luna's remaining enforcers, whoever they are," Joey Nguyen concluded. Vincenzo noted that Joey was not foolish enough to expect that all of Luna's soldiers had been dispensed with, but the Tong leader was, nonetheless, following the line of reasoning that the Don had hoped for. They were all concluding that for the first time, Julian Luna was exposed. It would not take much to convince them to go for the jugular.

"That is exactly what I am suggesting," Vincenzo confirmed. "I propose a moratorium on all violence between any of us for the duration of the war, and for six months after that. Once the six months is over, it's every man for himself, the way it should be. We don't need a babysitter."

"Fuckin' A!" Farona said, indicating his agreement.

"Whose family will supply the bulk of the soldiers?" Morini asked, betraying his concern that his organization might become more depleted, and thus more vulnerable, than the others.

"We will each initially donate only ten soldiers to the war," Vincenzo replied. "Should the need arise for more, we will take equally again from the families."

"And what if our family is smaller than yours?" Morini asked, pressing the issue. "The Morini family does not have the numbers that the Santo family has."

"Yes, but they are considered some of the finest enforcers in the city," Vincenzo countered. "I find it highly unlikely that you will lose as many of your people as the Santos will."

"Oh, thanks a lot," Farona put in, not seeming overly concerned about the welfare of his people.

"Other details, like leadership, can be voted on as the need arises," Vincenzo added. "For now, all I ask for is your tentative approval of the plan. I can get together with some of your people and hammer out the details over the next couple of days."

"You have my approval," Morini said, making his family the first to officially join up.

"Like you even need to ask," Farona put in. "You all know I want to bury the son of a bitch."

"I am also agreed," Matsuoka said. He then looked over the men at the table. "To your entire proposal," he added. Vincenzo nodded in response, the faint glimmer of a smile coming to his face.

"I join with Matsuoka," Nguyen said.

"The whole deal?" Gambioni asked, making sure he had understood the Tong leader.

"Yes, the whole deal," Joey replied.

"Excellent," Gambioni said, looking his associates over. "Go back to your families and choose the men that you'll be sending to work on this project. I'll be in touch."

With the meeting obviously signaled as being over, each of the men rose and walked out, followed by his bodyguard. Eddie Farona, however, stayed behind, just as Gambioni had known he would. The leader of the Santo family would waste no time in pressing Vincenzo to use the Tong and Yakuza soldiers for the more dangerous jobs. Farona would never cease looking for an advantage, and had no idea how to go about achieving his ends subtly.

"I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes," Farona said as soon as the others had left.

"Oh, really?" Vincenzo asked, feigning surprise. He looked quickly to Kristen, and saw her exchanging seductive looks with Farona's bodyguard, and sighed. _Well_, he thought, _kids would be kids._

"I think we should work to get the families working against the chinks," Farona stated evenly, as usual not wanting to present his case eloquently.

"I just agreed to work equally with them," Vincenzo replied. "You did too, for that matter. Does your word mean nothing to you?"

"Not to them it doesn't," Eddie answered. "They're not like us."

"No, they're most certainly not," Vincenzo agreed. "Did you know that Asian culture was already achieving unparalleled accomplishments in the arts and warfare while Rome was still little more than a group of farmers?" Vincenzo asked.

"What?" Farona asked, not seeming to be able to comprehend the direction in which Vincenzo was taking the discussion. The older Don realized the futility of trying to show Farona the error of his bigoted views, and sighed. Some things would simply never change.

"You're an idiot," Vincenzo said after a few moments. "I can't believe you were able to take control of the Santo family." He turned to Eddie's bodyguard and nodded, and the man stood up and walked out of the restaurant quietly, leaving Eddie alone in the room with Vincenzo and Kristen.

"What the hell?" Eddie asked, beginning to realize that something was amiss. He moved his hand slowly toward the Magnum that he had in a holster underneath his sports jacket.

"Don't bother," Vincenzo said calmly. "You'd never even get a shot off."

"You're absolutely nothing," Eddie shouted back.

"You are wrong," Gambioni replied. "I am actually the new head of the Santo family."

"What?" Eddie replied, dumbfounded. In his shock he let his arm drop to his side. No sooner had he done so than Kristen was upon him. In one fluid motion she threw Eddie to the floor and disarmed him.

"Yes, Eddie, you have been fired," Vincenzo replied. "I received word from Santino and Infante last night that they were looking for a way to get rid of you. They wanted my help." At the mention of his two most trusted capos, Eddie went suddenly pale. He could not believe his most trusted lieutenants had turned against him.

"You can't just kill me," Eddie blurted out, fear starting to overcome him. "There are rules against that."

"Yes, there are, aren't there?" Vincenzo replied. "Funny that one who has flaunted the rules his entire life should turn in desperation towards them now. Rest assured, Eddie, that I am not the rule-breaker that you are." Eddie seemed to relax for a moment, until Vincenzo continued. "The rules are quite clear that I cannot kill a Don without the knowledge and consent of the other Dons. Let's see," the old man said wistfully, "that would mean that Morini and I would have to agree to the job. Morini was only too willing to go along with it. He doesn't seem to hold a high opinion of you. For that matter, neither do I. I actually found it all too easy to get my own approval of your death." The Don walked up to Eddie and sat down in a chair next to him.

"You know what the really ironic thing is?" Gambioni asked.

"No," Eddie replied, starting to see his end rapidly approaching.

"I wanted to be completely open in this deal," Vincenzo said. "Since we're forming a temporary alliance with Matsuoka and Nguyen, I asked them if they would go along with your death. See, those chinks, as you so affectionately refer to them, were the ones that got to decide whether you should live or die."

"Why the hell would they agree?" Farona asked. "You killed some of their people today."

"Yes, funny thing about that, too," Gambioni said with a smile. "See, when you came to me with your idea, I in turn went to them and asked if they had any dead weight that they wanted jettisoned. I told them all about how you wanted to go to war with them." Eddie looked in horror at the older Don who had betrayed him, not able to believe that a fellow Italian had sold him out to the Asian gangs. "They were none too pleased with you, to say the least," Gambioni said. "I told them that I wanted to get Luna's attention. They each gave the name of someone in their organizations that they were planning to dispose of anyway. I simply utilized Kristen as the button man, or should I say button woman, for the jobs." Gambioni looked down at the younger Italian and smiled. "Are you following along so far?" he asked, hoping that he could get Eddie to keep up with him. Farona nodded, and Vincenzo continued.

"Well, as agreed, they raised holy hell about the executions, which brought Luna down from his tower. That rattled the people in the Santo family, especially Infante and Santino. When I went to them with my proposal to cut you out, they were more than happy to agree." Vincenzo smiled as he looked at Eddie, who still seemed to be working everything out in his head. "You see, Eddie, my true target the entire time was you. Luna was simply the catalyst to get the people in your family to agree to let me take charge. If it's any consolation, the war will, in fact, take place as you had wanted. That can be your legacy to the surviving members of your family."

"The surviving members of my family?" Eddie asked, obviously confused.

"Yes," Vincenzo replied. "Do you remember Eddie Fiori?" the Don asked. "Oh, of course you do," Gambioni answered for his prisoner. "He helped you rise to power. You wouldn't have ever been anything more than a thug without Fiori. You owed him big, didn't you? Well, do you remember when Fiori died? Of course you do," Vincenzo added, again not waiting for Farona to respond. "Well, three of his people became the frontrunners to take over his business. There was Herb Callous, Marty Beck, and, of course, Cameron, who eventually won. You didn't know that we were supporting Marty Beck. He was utterly incompetent, and would have run the organization into the ground even more effectively than Fiori did. You, however, supported Herb. Herb had promised to repay tenfold all that Fiori had taken from you. All he wanted was a temporary infusion of cash. You were more than willing to give it to him, weren't you?" Eddie began to look more worried with every passing second, completely unaware of where the conversation was going.

"What you didn't know, because you were too blind in your quest for power, is that Herb used the money you gave him to arrange the assassination of two children in my family. He hoped that doing so would break our spirit. It did. However, these were very special children, and the crime is not to be forgotten. You are the last living man that had any connection with this crime against my family."

"I didn't know," Farona squealed pitifully. Vincenzo simply looked at the weak don lying at his feet with emotionless eyes, and continued.

"You could have," Vincenzo's voice thundered, in marked contrast to his calm demeanor. "You just never bothered. You were blinded by your lust for power. It is for this crime that I have decided you should be punished. Morini has agreed because of the bad name you give to all Italian Americans. Both Matsuoka and Nguyen agreed because you had tried to go to war with them. As you see, I have followed the rules, and more. I have gotten the approval of all the other Dons in the city, as well as the Asians with whom we share San Francisco. You're finished."

"No, please, I'll give you anything," Farona pleaded.

"Can you bring back my twin grandchildren?" Vincenzo asked as he stood up. Eddie simply looked at Gambioni with a blank stare. "No, I didn't think so," Vincenzo concluded. "He's all yours, Kristen."

"Come on, Kristen, please," Eddie continued, attempting to sway the Gambioni assassin. Kristen looked at her grandfather as he walked out of the restaurant toward the limousine parked outside. He would be making sure that Robbie had the car pulled around to the back alley and ready to leave as soon as she carried out the body.

"You provided for the murder of my cousins, and you expect me to show you mercy?" Kristen asked incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

Eddie simply looked at her with a blank stare. The empty gaze became a mask of horror, however, as he watched Kristen's form grow and alter. Thick fur came through her skin, and her face elongated into a wolf-like maw. Her body suddenly became heavily muscled, and her hands grew into razor sharp claws. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Eddie understood that he was face to face with a werewolf. However, he could not get the rational side of his being to accept that fact. He was raised from the floor, and felt as something cut deeply into his chest. He felt his blood flow freely from the wound, and felt temporarily suffocated by the pain. Then he felt nothing, as his life slipped from his corpse.

Kristen appraised the room quickly, making sure she had not been so messy that the restaurant would not be able to open the next day. She was confident that the clean-up crew would be able to manage, and so carried Eddie Farona's body toward the rear exit.

****

VI

Tristan walked into Chalkers pool hall, noting first that he was surprised at how empty the place was. He would have expected a pool hall to have at least a few tables occupied at one-thirty in the morning, but such was not the case here. In fact, only one game was going on at the time. As luck would have it, however, the person he had come to see was one of the four that stood around the table.

The Irish mage instantly recognized Sasha from his brief encounter with her years earlier, an encounter that Sasha would never remember. She was unmistakable standing out in any crowd, though her appearance screamed for attention in the polished wood surroundings of Chalkers. Her black leather ensemble was everything Tristan had been told to expect. Next to Sasha, he assumed, was the child vampire that he had heard about. He knew that her name was Jenni, and that she had reportedly been embraced by the Sabbat during their recent siege. Other than that, however, he knew nothing. From what he had been able to determine, no one had done any significant checking into her background. For all he knew, she was the daughter of a member of the Society of Leopold, and the Inquisition would be riding down upon all of them any minute. He had thought that such an oversight was not typical of Luna, but from his latest impressions of the prince, not checking into Jenni's identity did not seem too much out of character. Indeed, the entire city seemed to be slowly disintegrating around all of them. The human gangsters were launching another war. The mages seemed oblivious. Luna was distant. The kindred of the city appeared alternatively ambivalent and restless, seemingly without reason. Things would have to change.

Tristan walked toward the table where Sasha and Jenni stood next to two college-aged men. As he approached, he got the attention of Luna's niece, who looked him over from head to toe. Sasha knew that the man approaching was not a regular, and got the impression that he most certainly did not belong there. Granted, he dressed the part well enough. However, while he was wearing the dress slacks, shoes, and button-down shirt that many Chalkers patrons wore, the look was completely wrong with him. First of all, she noted, none of the well-dressed patrons were ever in the bar so late. By 1:30 on a Wednesday night they were all asleep, next to either their wives or mistresses. Secondly, she realized suddenly, the man was too well built. Even with a button-down shirt and a wool overcoat, it was obvious that Tristan was fairly well muscled. No one who was the professional businessman that he seemed to want to resemble would have the time to develop the physique that he had. Sasha raised her guard, not knowing what to expect from the newcomer.

"Sasha?" Tristan asked as he walked up to the group. He saw no reason for formalities. He had come to make contact with this kindred and would do so.

"Who wants to know?" Sasha asked, putting up as much of a tough front as she could muster.

"I don't have times for games, Miss-," Tristan paused for a moment, not knowing how to continue. "I'm sorry, what's your last name?"

"None of your business," Sasha replied as she leaned up against the pool table.

"That is fairly unique," Tristan replied, suddenly deciding that the direct approach might not, in fact, be the wisest course of action. He decided to play along with the Brujah woman, and then come to the point when she seemed more comfortable. "That's German-Bulgarian, right?"

"Dutch-Italian, actually," Sasha replied with a smile, already seeming more comfortable. Tristan returned a smiled. With one flip remark he had been able to make himself seem cooler, while also allowing Sasha to feel that she had more control of the situation than she actually did. "What's your name?" Sasha asked flirtatiously. The two men with whom she had been shooting pool began to shift around uneasily. Obviously, they had expected a little action from Sasha, and suddenly sensed that they would have some competition.

"I'm Tristan," the mage replied, extending his hand.

"A name as Irish as your accent," Jenni put in, moving to stand next to Sasha.

"Yes," Tristan said. "Word has it that the Irish are a lucky lot." Tristan looked over the two men, and realized that they would not try to stay around if he continued to press for Sasha's attention. That was fortunate. He had no time to compete for the troublesome kindred.

"You looking to get lucky?" Sasha asked. She looked around her, seeming to take in her surroundings with one sweeping gaze. "This is a place of skill, Tristan. Luck has no place here. Do you think you have the necessary talent to play the game?"

"I don't disappoint," Tristan replied coyly, moving closer to Sasha. At that, the two men walked away, having had it with Sasha's fickleness. The Brujah watched them walk away with disinterest, and then turned back to the new toy she had acquired for herself. Jenni, seeing that Sasha had decided to use Tristan as a meal, began to walk after the two departing young men. Both Tristan and Sasha turned for a moment to watch the young girl go, both knowing that she intended to do a little feeding herself.

"So I won't be disappointed?" Sasha asked playfully.

"Enough games," Tristan said, his demeanor changing instantly once the child had moved beyond earshot. No longer was he the young man looking for a good time. Once again he resembled the assertive man on a mission, just as he had when he had first walked in. "I'm here to give you a message," the mage said.

"Oh really?" Sasha asked, obviously uninterested.

"We have a common acquaintance, Sasha, and he wanted me to get in touch with you," Tristan replied.

"Who's that?" Sasha asked, her eyes wandering toward the doorway. The serious tone that Tristan was using made her lose her appetite, and she only wished to leave.

"Henry," Tristan replied. "He is a man you met here in this very pool hall a couple of years ago."

"I don't know anyone named Henry," Sasha countered. "I mean, look at me. Do you think I'd want to hang around with some guy who actually let other people call him 'Henry'? I don't think so."

"You sure?" Tristan asked. He had seen the effects of the minor magic that Henry always used with his contacts. They would never readily remember him unless they were presented with someone else that certainly seemed to know who Henry was. It helped to guard against contacts that talked too much. Tristan imagined Sasha would certainly fall into that category.

"Oh, wait a second," Sasha suddenly said with a growing smile. "I remember now. Big scary black trenchcoat, right?" Tristan nodded. "Yeah, what a great guy," Sasha added. "I can't believe I didn't remember him right away."

"He seems to have that effect on people," Tristan replied sarcastically.

"Is he in town?" Sasha asked excitedly.

"He just came in tonight," Tristan replied, causing Sasha's face to brighten.

"Can I see him?" the Brujah asked.

"Not yet," Tristan replied. "Henry needs some things done before he can start meeting with people. I'm one of the people he always sends hither and yon, running his errands for him."

"Oh," Sasha said, seeming to grudgingly accept the situation. "Well, is there anything I can do to help out?" she asked excitedly, realizing that the sooner Henry's errands were done, the sooner she might be able to see him.

Tristan looked back at the young Brujah and smiled widely. "It's funny you should ask…"

****

VII

Matt Reimer paced anxiously across the floor of his office, playing out several scenarios in his head. Magnus was hours overdue, and that was certainly not like him. While the German was known to commonly disappear for a night, he would never have done so when he knew that he was expected to report to his primogen. The nerves were only made worse by the fact that Johnny Yashida had likewise been silent since Magnus' meeting with the Tremere. Unlike with Magnus, however, Matt would not have been surprised if Johnny had not followed instructions. The combination of the two was unbearable, however.

Matt thought about what could have gone wrong. Perhaps it was a trap after all, despite the fact that his instincts told him the Tremere had, for once, been on the level. It was easy to disregard his instincts in this situation. Those same instincts had, after all, led him to send Yashida along as backup, to watch the meeting from a distance. Given that truth, how trusting could his instincts have been?

Perhaps Stephen Jackson had seen Johnny and thought Magnus had been the one planning a trap. He might have turned on the two Telemon. _Would he have been ale to defeat both of them?_ Matt had to wonder. Despite the fact that the Tremere were regarded as one of the more formidable clans in combat, the fact was that no one outside the Tremere clan truly understood what the warlocks were capable of.

If it had been a well-laid trap set by the Tremere, however, Matt had no doubts that neither Johnny nor Magnus would have made it out alive. The Tremere left little to chance. That very fact led Matt to become more convinced with every passing moment that it had indeed been the Tremere that had been behind Magnus' and Johnny's apparent disappearances.

The ringing of the phone knocked Matt out of his thoughts, and he strode quickly across the room to answer it. Normally, one of his ghouls would have been assigned such a mundane task, but as the hours had passed, Matt had become increasingly uneasy. He wanted to be the first one to get any news.

"Yes?" Matt asked, the tension in his voice completely obvious to his caller.

"Mr. Reimer?" a voice asked. "I expected someone to be screening your calls." Matt recognized Patrick's voice on the other end of the line. _So it begins_, he thought. The Tremere had not killed his clanmates, but had instead captured them. Doubtless they would be held until Matt performed some favor for the warlocks.

"So do you have an explanation why Magnus is overdue?" Matt asked, not having the patience to play games with the other clan's primogen.

"Unfortunately I do," Patrick responded. "Your clanmate is dead." Matt felt rage boiling up within him, and started running through the mental list of actions he would need to take before he would be able to launch an assault against the Tremere chantry. "Both Magnus and Stephen were killed at the meeting. Thus far my people have been unable to determine who was behind the attack."

"Both of them?" Matt asked incredulously. It had never occurred to him that anyone else would have attacked the two kindred. They were each regarded to be the second most powerful members of their respective clans within the city. Matt could not imagine anyone actually being willing to risk such an assault.

"We have removed both bodies," Patrick replied. "As it is near dawn, we will have to wait until tomorrow night to return Magnus' remains, so that you can carry on any ceremonies that are customary for your clan."

"Thank you," Matt said, surprised at the apparent compassion and regard that Patrick held for Telemon ritual. Still, however, he was not entirely convinced. _How could he know whether Magnus was actually dead?_ For all he knew, Patrick had abducted his clanmate, and planned to have the German tortured during the day.

"I have already contacted Julian," Patrick added. "Do not be concerned about him knowing about our dealings. The corpses were removed before his people showed up. He knows nothing about the deaths of either Stephen or Magnus. I figure we might want to hold back on that for now. I told him that I had discovered a small group of anarchs that had a slight understanding of my clan's blood magic. We had gone in to eradicate them ourselves. The damage was attributed to these fictional kindred punks."

"Damage?" Matt asked immediately.

"Magnus appears to have sprayed the inside of the building with gunfire," Patrick answered. "From what we've been able to tell, he didn't hit anything. Neither did Stephen, for that matter." Matt stayed silent, not revealing his thoughts to his counterpart within the Tremere clan. A widespread pattern with no hits would be indicative of panic fire, but that would have been extremely unlike Magnus. Matt had never seen the older Telemon lose his cool. "You have ghouls, right?" Stephen asked suddenly.

"Yes," Matt replied suspiciously. He had no idea what Patrick had in mind, but he already knew that he did not like it.

"Could you send a couple of them to the fort?" Patrick asked. "I assume they have some military training."

"Of course they do," Matt replied, mildly offended that Patrick could even entertain the thought that anyone worthy of being a Telemon ghoul would not have a military background.

"We could certainly use their opinions," Patrick answered. "Like I said, we have no idea what happened. Maybe your people could piece it together a little better."

"What exactly do you know?" Matt asked, wanting to know what kind of situation he would be sending his people into.

"The two bodies were mutilated," Patrick replied. "It looked like the attackers could have been garou, but if that were the case, I'm sure Magnus would have at least shot one. There would be blood, or something. From what we've seen, there's nothing." Patrick's voice betrayed his sense of disbelief at the situation, and that set Matt more at ease. He was comfortable in concluding that the Tremere had not been involved.

Matt thought quickly – two bodies. It appeared that Yashida had been able to escape. Unless, of course, Patrick was holding out, waiting to see if Matt was willing to admit that he knew about Johnny's presence at the meeting. Matt decided he had no choice but to accept responsibility for violating the terms of the meeting. He had to know if Yashida had been found.

"Did you find any trace of Johnny?" Matt asked.

"Yashida?" Patrick asked suspiciously. "He was there? I thought we had an agreement."

"Stephen and Magnus had an agreement," Matt stated evenly. "I sent Johnny to watch from afar. He was only there to keep an eye on his clanmate. His orders were to not do anything that would violate the trust of the meeting."

"I see," Patrick replied suspiciously. The Tremere primogen was surprised that he was not angrier about Matt's actions. In fact, he acknowledged that the Telemon's motives had been fueled by the fear and distrust that all of the other clans felt for the Tremere. Such a reputation was useful enough that Patrick had cultivated it over the years. He would not allow himself to act self-righteously when such a public sentiment worked against him. Instead, he would congratulate himself on having achieved his goal of making the other clans uneasy around his own.

"Did Mr. Yashida carry a silver penlight by any chance?" Patrick asked.

"Yes," Matt replied after a moment's thought. He remembered the light as being a souvenir Johnny had taken during the robbery of a mall in Pennsylvania. It had been his first job with Michelle, and the light had always had sentimental value. Matt was surprised that Patrick would have known about it. "Why do you ask?"

"We found the light on the second floor," Patrick replied. Matt grimaced as he heard the words. Johnny had been given strict orders to keep his distance. He was not supposed to have been anywhere near the building unless he saw signs of an attack. Then again, Matt thought, perhaps his sire had indeed seen something.

"There was no other trace of him?" Matt asked.

"None," Patrick replied. "You have not heard from him?"

"Not yet," Matt said. "Perhaps he saw something."

"Perhaps he did something," Patrick replied caustically. "How am I to know that Johnny was not sent to assassinate my clanmate."

"You'll just have to trust me," Matt answered.

"What if he didn't tell you about it," Patrick responded. "After all, he does have a history of acting on his own, despite what you tell him."

"So you want me to seriously consider that Johnny is responsible for the murder of Magnus and Stephen?" Matt asked angrily. "That's absolutely absurd."

"Why?" Patrick asked.

"First of all, there's no way he could have done it," Matt replied. "He's nowhere near powerful enough. Secondly, he would have been able to get close to Magnus, so there wouldn't have been a roomful of bullet holes. Magnus would have trusted Johnny to get near him, and then the attack would have come."

"You have a point," Patrick admitted, obviously reluctantly. "That leaves us back where we were. We have no idea who was behind the attack."

"Don't we?" Matt asked immediately. "What were they supposed to be meeting about? What was so important that it seems to have gotten two, maybe three, of our best kindred killed?"

"This is not the time or the place for this conversation," Patrick replied. "Given the circumstances, I want more than ever to discuss this matter with you, but I hope you'll forgive me when I say I am unwilling to expose myself to my clanmate's fate. I will tell you all the information that Magnus would have brought to you tonight, but the meeting will have to be held in my clan's chantry. You will be permitted to bring any two guards of your choice."

"When?" Matt asked.

"As soon as the sun goes down tomorrow night," Patrick responded. "By then perhaps Mr. Yashida will have reappeared and shed some light on the subject."

"Yes, perhaps," Matt agreed. Only Johnny would not be reappearing anytime soon. Matt knew that much. If Yashida had seen anything, his first impulse would have been to tell someone right away. That would at least prevent any knowledge from dying with him. If nothing else, Johnny knew that if he was not the only one that knew something, he would not be as great a target. Minimizing his exposure to danger had always been Johnny's greatest desire. Only two possibilities really remained. Either Johnny was dead, which seemed to be the greatest likelihood, or he had been so frightened that he had gone to ground. If the latter was the case, Matt could not imagine how great the danger would be. Johnny had never been so intimidated by anything that he did not seem to feel his clanmates could protect him. If he thought that not even the entire Telemon clan could offer safety, then the situation could indeed be grim. "I'll see you tomorrow night, then," Matt said.

"As soon as possible," Patrick added before he hung up the phone.

Matt did not hang up his phone. Instead, he pushed the hang-up button, and then pushed it immediately again, knowing he would have to make a crucial phone call before he did anything else. While Matt had a few hours before sunrise, the person he was calling would be falling asleep any moment. He dialed quickly, knowing the numbers well enough to not have to look at the keypad. The phone rang three times before there was a voice at the other end of the line.

"Hello?" a voice asked in a faint Chinese accent.

"Wong, this is Matt," Reimer said, unable to hide his anxiety. "Is Siras asleep yet?"

"Not quite yet," Wong responded. The Chinese retainer that Siras employed had been in the service of the head of the Telemon clan for over forty years, and was trusted with keeping records of the clan's activity. Although he was only a ghoul, and would probably never be embraced, he was kept eternally young by the blood that he drank from his master.

Matt waited in silence for a few moments, knowing that Wing was looking for his master, and that Matt would be able to speak with his grandsire in a short time.

"Hello?" came the familiar, confident voice of Siras Telemon. "Is something wrong."

"Magnus was killed tonight, sir," Matt said quickly, knowing that Siras would not have appreciated any sugarcoating of the news. He would be far more appreciative of the facts being given succinctly.

"How?" Siras asked after a few moments. Matt could tell that Siras was disturbed by the news. Though the head of the clan had never shown any affection for any of his childer, Matt had always suspected that underneath the hard-ass shell, Siras actually did have feelings. He felt sorry for his grandsire, but also knew that Siras would not allow the sadness of loss to interfere with his duties. He would move on.

"He had gone to a meeting with one of the Tremere," Matt replied. "Both of them were attacked and killed. We do not yet have any idea of who was behind it."

"I see," Siras replied. "You know that the Tremere are on the level?"

"I'll never know if, and when, the Tremere are on the level," Matt replied. "I think they're scared, though. Their primogen wants to meet with me at sunset tomorrow. He wants to meet in his chantry. He doubts that he would be perfectly safe anywhere else." Despite his better judgement, Siras had to admit that it did actually seem that the Tremere were frightened. Of course, it could all be a ploy. It was possible, he thought, that the Tremere would portray a frightened exterior if they thought it would gain them anything. The progenitor of the Telemon clan put that thought out of his head quickly. No matter what the Tremere were hoping to gain, he found it unlikely that they would ever allow themselves to appear afraid. Especially not with their background.

"Make sure you make it to the meeting," Siras said, knowing that his order was not necessary. Siras guessed that Matt had already reached the same conclusions that he himself had.

"There's something else," Matt added, finding himself surprised at the fact that he was hesitating in completing his report.

"What is it?" Siras asked impatiently through a yawn. Matt was reminded that his grandsire would probably not be able to stay awake much longer, and resolved to simply say what he had to.

"Johnny's missing," Matt added. "I sent him to keep an eye on Magnus' meeting, but he never checked in."

"You haven't heard anything at all?" Siras asked. "What about Michelle? Have you checked with her?"

"She's out with the Gangrel," Matt replied. "I'll have to wait a couple of hours until she gets in."

"What do you think happened?" Siras asked.

"He might be dead," Matt answered. "I don't know. I need help out here."

"I'll have someone come in tomorrow night," Siras replied. "It probably won't be until late, though. Not until after midnight."

"Ok," Matt replied. "Thanks."

Siras Telemon simply hung up the phone, rather than say goodbye. He was shocked. His clan had functioned for years without losing a member in combat. Only Angelica and Butterfly had ever fallen, and neither one had ever truly been a part of the clan. Neither had ever fit in. Now, however, he had lost his first childe, and perhaps his second, as well. Magnus had been Siras' voice in San Francisco, lending the wisdom of years of experience. It would not be easy to replace him. Indeed, it might prove impossible. Such was also the case with Johnny. He had been the one and only information broker in the clan. If he did indeed prove to be dead, the clan might be left out of the loop in many situations.

As he drifted off to sleep, Siras wondered how to handle the crisis. Matt needed help. Who should he send, however? The Sabbat had once again turned their sights to State College. Siras could not risk sending a large number of his troops to California. He could really only risk sending one or two. To make matters more complicated, there was the chance that something might happen to Matt going to or from the meeting with the Tremere. If something went wrong, the Telemon clan would be without leadership in the city. The next oldest kindred in the clan was Holden, and he was not yet ready for the burden of leadership. Siras would have to deal with both contingencies, or else decide to cut his losses and pull out of San Francisco. No, he decided. It was not yet time for that. He smiled as he decided who he would send. Yes, there was one member of the clan that would be able to not only help in battle, should it be necessary, but who would also be able to assume responsibility for the clan should the need arise.

****

VIII

With dawn rapidly approaching, Michelle Marlowe raced into the apartment building in Japantown that she and Johnny Yashida were sharing. It had been quite awhile since she had spent an entire night with other Gangrel, and the experience had helped her to forget all the stress that she had been under lately. _Of course,_ she thought_, it would have been more fun if Johnny had come along,_ but she figured he had probably found some adventure of his own. She was sure she would hear all about it as she drifted off to sleep.

The Gangrel walked inside, and then ran up the stairs, making it to her apartment door in a matter of seconds. However, she was left speechless when she walked in. All of the furniture had been ripped to pieces. The television set and stereo had been smashed. Michelle drew her Glock and started to walk through the apartment, figuring that she and Johnny had been robbed. She wanted to make sure that no one was still in the apartment. She reached the bedroom and found the closet door ripped off of its hinges. The mattress appeared to have been torn in half. Michelle scanned the dresser, and found it curiously intact. She opened the top drawer, and saw a wad of twenty-dollar bills sitting right where she had left it.

Robbery was obviously not the motive, she surmised. _Why would someone break into the apartment and not take money that was practically lying out in the open? What else would they want?_ In horror, Michelle realized that Johnny was not there.

"Johnny?" Michelle called out. "Are you here anywhere?" There was no answer. Michelle glanced out the window again. Within minutes it would be too bright for Johnny to comfortably be out on the streets. "Johnny!" she yelled, panic starting to overtake her. In no more than half an hour, the sun would completely clear the horizon. The Gangrel raced to the phone, only to find it had been pulled out of the wall. Instead, she took out her cell-phone, and dialed the two childer that Johnny secretly had living in the city. The phone rang seven times, and Michelle had just about given up when Uiko answered.

"Yes?" the woman asked tiredly in her light Japanese accent.

"Uiko, it's Michelle," the Gangrel said quickly, unable to calm herself. "Have you seen Johnny?"

"No," Uiko answered. "Is something wrong?"

"He wasn't here when I got in," Michelle replied. "He was supposed to meet up with me earlier and never did. When I got home the place was torn apart."

"Shit," Uiko said, obviously becoming concerned herself. "It's too bright out to go looking for him."

"I know," Michelle said. The Gangrel looked quickly out the window, having to prove to herself that the sun was indeed still rising. To her disappointment, her sensitive eyes confirmed that it was still getting lighter. Her vain hope that dawn would somehow wait until she had Johnny safe within her arms again was proven to be the fool's dream she had known deep down it was. "I don't suppose Mason has seen him at all."

"No, we were both together all night," Uiko replied. "Why don't you call Matt and see if he knows anything?"

"Good idea," Michelle replied. "You going to sleep now?"

"Yes," Uiko replied. Michelle could tell that Johnny's childe was trying desperately to hold off sleep, but it was a futile effort. All kindred would pass out when the sun rose. It was a part of their nature.

"I'll call you first thing tomorrow night," Michelle said. Then she hung up, almost seeming to dial Matt's number before the connection with Uiko had been ended. Again the phone rang several times, but Matt picked up on the fifth ring.

"Have you seen Johnny?" Michelle asked immediately. She noted the panic she heard in her own voice, but was far past caring. She needed to find him. Michelle could not imagine going to sleep without Yashida beside her. It had been years since she had had to.

"He's missing," Matt answered, his voice sounding sluggish and grumpy.

"What?" Michelle asked. She could not believe no one had contacted her.

"He did a job for us earlier, and never came back," Matt replied. "We tried to call you, but there was no answer." Michelle looked at the wall, remembering the phone line having been ripped out.

"Well, someone trashed our apartment," Michelle said. "They ripped out the phone line. I guess that's why you couldn't get through."

"Are you sure you're alone?" Matt asked. "Johnny was with Magnus earlier. Magnus is dead. If Johnny got away, they might go there looking to finish the job."

"Now you tell me," Michelle muttered. She knew she could not risk leaving the building. Of course, she could always break into another apartment, but that would leave her vulnerable if the owner came home during the day. She would be unable to awaken. If someone did something as simple as open a curtain next to her, it could prove fatal.

"The sun's coming up," Matt pointed out needlessly. "Why don't you get some sleep and start looking for him tomorrow night."

"But what if he's in trouble?" Michelle asked desperately. "I have to know. I can't just go to sleep when he could be dead, or tied up in the park. Oh my God, what if he's tied up in the park, Matt? He'll die."

"He's a big boy, Michelle," Matt answered. "He can take care of himself. You can't go looking now, though. You have to go to sleep. If you leave the apartment, you'll just get yourself killed. That's not going to help him any."

"I know," Michelle replied with a yawn. Her eyes went wide with disbelief at the fact that she could be falling asleep in such a situation. She had to stay awake. She had to wait and see if Johnny came back to her. "I just want to find him."

"We all do," Matt assured her. "First thing tomorrow night, Holden will be out looking for him."

"So will I," Michelle added. She yawned again, and immediately took out a knife and cut her left palm open. She winced with pain as blood slowly seeped from the wound, but the pain was enough to jolt her fully awake once again.

"Ok," Matt said as he hung up. Michelle began to pace. "If I'm walking, I'm awake," she muttered over and over to herself, her mantra helping her fight off the sleep that she knew was inevitable. Every few minutes she would cut herself again, and then glance out the window, hoping that she would see Johnny below, running into the building at the last moment before it was too late. Finally, she drew back the curtain one too many times to look for her friend. Sunlight streamed in and instantly scorched her hands and face. Michelle screamed in agony as she fell back from the window and the exposed sun outside. Once she hit the floor, her body became too weary to move any longer. Even the pain of her burns was not enough to keep her awake. "Johnny," she muttered one last time before she fell asleep. However, there was nothing more that she was able to do, other than sleep the day away.

__

To be continued........................


	2. Gehenna, Part 2

Spelling Television, Inc. (a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment group, Inc) owns the characters of Julian, Cameron, Daedalus, Lillie, Sasha, Cash, Eddie Fiori, Sonny, and any others from the Kindred: The Embraced TV show that I may have forgotten to mention. Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.

Other disclaimers are contained at the beginning of Part 1. If you really get off on reading disclaimers, then check it out there.

****

Gehenna, Part 2

by

Nevermore

CHAPTER 3

****

I

"What's the matter?" Julian Luna asked into the telephone. It was a rare occurrence for Sonny to call his sire at the mansion while in the middle of his shift. Generally, matters were never so major that they could not wait a few hours. The fact that Sonny had felt a need to reach Julian immediately spoke volumes of whatever situation was developing within San Francisco.

"You know how you've had me poking around all over the place lately?" Sonny asked.

"Yes," Julian replied as he gestured for Toby to join him in the living room. "No one has noticed anything unusual in your behavior, have they?" Julian knew even as he asked the question what the answer would be. If anyone had found Sonny's behavior strange, the younger Ventrue would certainly have been able to deal with the situation on his own. He would certainly not have gone to his sire to straighten things out. No, this would have to do with a far more pressing matter.

"As a matter of fact, people have been noticing my interest in anything that seems out of the ordinary," Sonny replied. "It's because of that that I received a phone call about an hour ago." Sonny paused a few moments before continuing, and Julian could only guess that his childe was choosing his words carefully, making sure that he quickly summed up everything that he needed to say. That Sonny was being so careful with his words was another sign to the prince that a difficult situation had arisen.

"A friend of mine just transferred over to Oakland about six months ago," Sonny finally continued. "Just after sundown tonight the police in Oakland received a report of what sounded like a firefight in a brownstone in Lakeside." Sonny's last phrase immediately grabbed Julian's attention. As it happened, he knew someone that owned a brownstone in Lakeside. "That's generally a safe neighborhood," Sonny added. "That definitely counted as unusual. When the police arrived a few minutes later, they found something that goes well beyond unusual and headed straight for shocking."

"What?" Julian asked, feeling his stomach bottom out as he spoke. He could only imagine what had happened in the city across the bay, but every possibility was far more than disconcerting.

"The entire place was shot up," Sonny replied. "I'm out here now, Julian. I came out as soon as I heard, so that I could help cover things up." The fact that Sonny would have to cover anything up confirmed all of the prince's fears. That would have been necessary only to protect the Masquerade. As he had feared, it appeared that Basil's home, the home of the prince of Oakland, had been attacked earlier that evening.

"Has Basil been cooperative in concealing what happened?" Julian asked, allowing his childe to know that he fully understood the situation. The silence that followed, however, told Julian that perhaps he did not understand as much as he thought he did.

"Basil's not here," Sonny replied. "He's missing, along with all of his people."

"What?" Julian asked, wondering if he had in fact heard his childe correctly. "You have no idea where he went?"

"There's no sign of any of them," Sonny replied. The place looks like the inside of a slaughterhouse, Julian. There're bullet holes everywhere, and lots of blood, but no bodies." Silence followed for a few moments as Sonny seemed to be finished speaking, and Julian did not know what to say. "You can't imagine what it looks like, Julian," Sonny added after almost a minute of silence. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone came in here, butchered the lot of them, and threw bucketfuls of their blood against the wall. It's that bad."

"Do you have any idea who could have done it?" Julian asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. The prince had been thrown into a state of utter shock. He tried to think of anyone in the area that would have been able to commit such an act. Beyond the sheer strength that one had to have possessed, there was also the question of who would have been able to carry out the assault before the authorities arrived. After that, there was also the matter of who could have been so brutal in their methods. Of course, the Sabbat would have been both powerful and brutal enough to have carried out the attack, but Julian doubted that a Sabbat pack large enough to have succeeded in the assault would also have been able to escape without being seen.

"Right now, other than the Manson family, I can't imagine anyone that could do something like this," Sonny replied, knowing even as he spoke that the levity he injected into the conversation was far less than welcome.

"Call me back when you find out anything," Julian instructed as he hung up the telephone. He immediately turned to the Toreador guard that had been standing by silently during the entire conversation. "Call the primogen, including Cash, and tell them there's going to be a meeting tonight," Julian said evenly. "Make certain that their attendance is required."

"What if any of them resist?" Toby asked, knowing that Julian understood he was referring primarily to Cash.

"Simply make certain that they are all aware that I will be extremely displeased if they do not show up," Julian replied. "There may be denial of certain requests, such as permission to add to the ranks of one's clan, and the right to ask for protection should things get out of hand." Toby's eyes went wide as the prince spoke. Suddenly, the Toreador began to understand that Julian felt there may be a need for the primogen to ask for protection from their prince. If that were the case, then there would have to be a significant threat within the city. Toby wondered exactly what the phone call had been about. All he knew for sure was that it had concerned Basil, and that Oakland's prince seemed to have skipped out on his responsibilities.

"Is that all?" Toby asked, noting that Julian's posture indicated that he had other things on his mind as well.

"Call them all first," Julian instructed. "Then meet me in my study upstairs." Toby nodded, and then walked quickly toward the phone. The Toreador had never been asked to undertake a chore as significant as the one he had just been given – calling a meeting of the primogen. The prospect thrilled him.

Staying behind in the living room for a moment, Julian Luna was less thrilled than the young kindred he had just sent on his way. Basil Romanov, for all of his faults, had thus far, at the very least, been a stabilizing influence within Oakland. With him across the bay, the anarchs that had been attacking all of the Camarilla cities in California were suddenly faced with a new enemy. They had been forced to stop concentrating solely on bringing about the fall of San Francisco. This had given Julian the time he had needed to rebuild his position after the Sabbat siege of a couple years earlier, and the Brujah civil war that had erupted shortly thereafter.

Basil Romanov had excelled as an enemy of the anarchs. His enforcers, all of them his blood-bound childer, had executed any interlopers within two days of entering the city. _Basil's childer,_ Julian mused. The youngest of them was as old as Julian himself was. The oldest was over five hundred years old. Basil himself was over eight hundred years old. Julian Luna was well aware of the strength he had gained during the hundred years since his embrace. The differences were like light and day. He could only imagine how much stronger one of his kind would be after eight hundred years. Compared to a mortal, such a kindred would be akin to a god. Julian had only seen Basil in combat once – against Rayce. The now-deceased Brujah primogen had proven to be more than Julian had ever thought him to be. Indeed, the prince of San Francisco had realized he would have been out of his league if he had ever fought Rayce himself. Now, with Basil missing, Julian could not imagine who would have been able to attack Oakland's prince and survive, to say nothing of winning. Then there was the matter of Basil's childer. They would also have been present. Their attackers would have had to overcome five kindred, each of whom was over a hundred years old. A chill went down Julian's spine as he thought, and he began to walk to his study, knowing that he had several weapons there. Perhaps arming himself would help ease his nerves.

The prince walked through the halls, noticing how quiet everything seemed. Granted, it had been years since the mansion had actually seemed active, but Julian had never stopped and noticed how empty his home had become. All there were now were the Toreador guards and their primogen. All of the city's Ventrue, including Jeffrey, had moved out shortly after the Sabbat siege. They had realized how vulnerable the prince's home had become. Even Sasha had eventually left, and Julian was now without the loud music that his niece had sometimes played. When she had still lived in the mansion, of course, Julian had hated every chord on every electric guitar played on every one of Sasha's cd's. Now he missed them.

Julian reached the door to his study and stopped, thinking that he had left the door open when he had walked downstairs to speak with Toby. Then he had gotten the phone call from Sonny. Yes, Julian decided as he stood silently outside the door. He had most certainly left the door open. The guards would never have closed a door that he had left open. They were always completely unobtrusive. Lillie might have closed it, but she was downstairs, poring over a painting that one of her older childer had completed the night before. The prince grabbed a hold of the doorknob, and found it locked. Julian took a step back and allowed his blood to flow into the muscles of his legs, increasing his strength. After a few moments of gathering his energy, he kicked the door as hard as he could. The heavy oak door withstood the blow, but the doorframe did not. The door's lock punched through the wooden frame, sending the door flying open. Julian burst into the room, expecting an attack at any moment. Without even stopping to check his surroundings, he darted to the far side of the room and pulled a combat shotgun from the bookcase. Only then did he stop to take stock of his surroundings.

The prince's gaze was instantly brought to his desk or, more importantly, to the chair that sat behind it. Julian came eye to eye with Basil Romanov's corpse. The first thing that Julian noticed about the body was the advanced stage of decomposition that it seemed to have reached. The older Ventrue was obviously extinguished. Like many of the older kindred, his body had reached the point where the only thing keeping it going was the blood. Once that was destroyed, the body began to crumble. Julian knew that Basil would be no more than a pile of dust by the next evening's sunset. There was nothing that could be done. Romanov was thoroughly dead.

Julian scanned the room, making certain that he was alone. He grinned as he noticed his own behavior. _What good would it do to scan the room?_ he wondered. Someone had been able to bring the body into his home. In order to do that, they would have had to have mastered the kindred abilities of stealth. If they were indeed as accomplished with the abilities as Julian knew they would have to be, then they could be directly in front of him and he would never know it.

"Toby!" Julian shouted, hoping that he could at least achieve a modicum of safety in numbers. He could hear the Toreador racing toward the study, and decided to examine the body more closely. The flesh seemed to have been torn in large pieces from Basil's bones, speaking of great strength in his attacker. The wounds themselves were rather clean, meaning that the weapon used in the attack was at least fairly sharp. As Julian looked closer, Toby ran into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.

"What the-"

"There's no time for that," Julian said, cutting off his guard. "Get everyone together into small groups and search the mansion, and then the grounds," Julian instructed. He was certain that his people would not find anything, but he felt that an effort should be made nonetheless. "As soon as you get everyone organized, get the hell back here," Julian continued, "and bring my .45's with you." Toby nodded and ran out of the room, yelling ahead to his clanmates.

Once the Toreador had departed, Julian continued his examination, becoming more confident that he would not be attacked. From what he figured, anyone who would have wanted him dead would have attacked by then. There was no longer any point in worrying about it. Julian looked closer, noticing something strange about Basil's wounds. He touched the skin, and then took out his pocketknife and cut in. No blood came from the cut. From what Julian could surmise, there was no blood remaining in the body. He looked at the neck and found the telltale puncture marks that he had feared were present. Although the body looked as if it had been attacked by a pack of garou, Julian knew that no werewolf would ever voluntarily drink the blood of a vampire. Certainly, none would ever drain not only the blood, but also the very life essence of a kindred. Basil had been attacked by one of his own kind. What was worse, Julian knew, was that the attacker had diablerized his victim. That meant that whoever had destroyed Basil had been able to defeat him without destroying the body, and that he had then been able to subdue him to the point where he could diablerize the prince. The very thought of such an enemy made Julian's head spin. He knew that he would not be safe if such a foe decided to destroy San Francisco's prince, as well. He could only hope against hope that Basil had some enemies from his past, and that they had returned to exact revenge for an earlier slight. In that case, however, why would they have put Basil's remains in Julian's home? It seemed a rather personal touch, a message meant more for Luna than for Romanov. Julian looked deep within his mind, trying to think of who it was that could be behind Basil's death, but he came up with nothing.

In the basement of the Luna mansion, Lillie could hear the shouts of her clanmates, and immediately realized something was wrong. Her first thought was that the mansion was under attack, and that Julian could be in danger. She shook her attention from the painting that hung on the wall, and turned to run upstairs, to find out if she could do anything to help. As she ran out, however, she ran directly into Jenni, who seemed to have been waiting for her outside of the gallery that Julian had allowed Lillie to set up in a small room in his mansion's lowest level.

"Jenni," Lillie said, obviously startled. "Do you know what's going on?"

"What's going on?" the child asked, her voice holding a strange quality. She seemed to be only dimly aware of Lillie's words, but her voice still held an edge of malice. The Toreador primogen instinctively took a step back, feeling for some reason that she was threatened. Almost as suddenly as she had fallen back, however, she righted herself, almost laughing at what she thought was fear of the child in front of her.

"Yes, what's going on?" Lillie repeated, trying to get Jenni to be more coherent. "People are yelling upstairs."

"Oh, that," Jenni replied, her eyes starting to rapidly clear. "I would assume that Julian just found the body." Jenni shook her head, seeming to be clearing the last of the cobwebs that had been affecting her moments earlier.

"What body?" Lillie asked, once again feeling the sense of danger return to her. She unconsciously took a half-step back, and Jenni smiled in response, noticing the subtle movement.

"Basil's body," Jenni replied simply. Lillie simply stared blankly at the child, not seeming to comprehend what Jenni was saying. "His diablerized carcass," Jenni clarified. "I put it upstairs in Julian's study."

"What?" Lillie stammered. Part of her tried to yell out that the child was simply joking. Reason told the Toreador that Jenni was simply looking for attention. However, another voice, instinct, told Lillie that Jenni was deadly serious, and that she posed a dangerous threat. Lillie took another half-step back, deciding to listen to instinct rather than reason.

"Yeah, I had to kill Basil," Jenni answered nonchalantly. "He was a real pain in the ass, though. You know?" Jenni smiled at Lillie, who was still unable to speak. The Toreador's mind seemed at war with itself. Jenni could see that Lillie was thus far unable to reconcile instinct and reason, and so she continued. "I don't think anyone's going to miss him, really," Jenni added. "Well, his childer might have missed him, but they're all dead, too. A couple of them put up quite a fight, though. It's a good thing I went to the trouble of dominating them all over the last few weeks. Of course, I couldn't get any of them to actually help me kill Basil, since they were all blood-bound to him. A couple of them were more than willing to attack each other, though. That made things a lot easier. Too bad Basil never tried that thing the Sabbat always does. I think they call it the vinculum. I've heard about you, Lillie. You should know all about Sabbat rituals, what with your past. That's the one where an entire group shares each other's blood. If they had all been blood-bound to each other, things could have really gotten messy." Jenni could notice that Lillie was quickly getting herself more composed, and now stood silent less out of confusion than out of a desire to gather information. Jenni smiled. "Don't you think it was a nice touch to leave Basil's body in Luna's office? It really freaked him out. You should have seen the look on his face."

"What the hell are you?" Lillie asked. Her mind started to swim. She remembered the reference to the Sabbat, and the Toreador's mind went back to the Sabbat siege. It was then that Jenni had arrived among them, and from what she said Lillie gathered that their guest was not, in fact, a member of the Sabbat. Lillie thought back and remembered the night that Julian had called for the attack against the Sabbat lair.

Jenni had seemed furious that Julian would not permit her to go along. She had cried out for blood and vengeance. Why did that image stick in her mind? What was it that her subconscious had apparently noticed, and that her conscious mind had overlooked? In a flash of insight it came to her – Jenni's aura had been completely wrong. Lillie had been reading Julian's aura at that moment, to try to determine whether or not he truly trusted the Toreador primogen, or whether he considered her a liar when she claimed she was not in with the Sabbat. She had then turned toward Jenni when the child came in with Sasha. During the child's entire tirade, her aura had never flickered or faltered. It was constantly white, a sign of purity, youth, and innocence – exactly what one would expect to find in the aura of a recently embraced child. However, Jenni seemed to be angry at the time. Even given her youth and innocence, there would still have been a hint of her anger. However, there had been none. Now Lillie realized the truth of the situation. Jenni was capable of altering the appearance of her own aura. Such a power was extremely advanced, and could only be possessed by those kindred that had some of the most potent blood of their kind. Indeed, no one in the city, not even Julian, would ever be capable of using such an ability. Not only did Jenni appear to be far more than she had ever let on, she was perhaps far more than the Toreador primogen felt she would ever be able to defeat.

Lillie began to walk steadily backward, hoping that she would be able to escape the basement and warn Julian and her clanmates. Jenni, in turn, began to walk toward the Toreador primogen. She could see the fear in Lillie's eyes, and it only excited her all the more. As she came within arm's reach, Lillie lashed out, hoping to knock Jenni to the ground so that she would be able to run. The attack surprised the child, as Jenni had thought she had frightened her prey into submission. In the end, however, it made no difference. Jenni simply caught Lillie's wrist and squeezed, crushing the bone. She then swung at Lillie's throat. The Toreador was not prepared for the quickness of Jenni's counterattack, and could do little more than watch the child's open hand approach. In the last split-second before impact, Lillie noticed that Jenni had formed her hands into claws even as she attacked. Lillie felt Jenni's taloned fingers slice into her throat, and was slightly aware of a spray of blood accompanying the strike. She tried to scream, simultaneously feeling the pain from her mangled wrist and ripped throat. However, no sound came from her mouth as she cried for help.

Jenni took a step back, a wide smile spread across her blood-splattered face. She held up her clawed hand and opened it, proudly displaying a lump of flesh.

"You know what this is?" the child asked maliciously. Lillie simply fell back, still hoping to be able to escape her attacker, though she felt with every passing moment that her odds of survival were decreasing rapidly. "This is your larynx," Jenni said, answering her own question. "I'll forgive you for not answering, since you can't as long as I hold your voice box in my hand." Jenni stopped to consider the organ that she held in her palm, and Lillie took the opportunity to focus on healing her wounds. She knew that in her present condition, she would never be able to even put up a good fight. She needed to be able to defend herself. Jenni glanced at Lillie and immediately noticed that the wound was no longer bleeding.

"Trying to heal yourself?" Jenni asked absently. "Why bother? You can't regrow a larynx, Lillie. You should know that. It will regenerate in a few days, I guess, but until then you'll be a mute. God, I've been waiting a long time to get you to shut the fuck up." Jenni walked up to Lillie and kicked her in the knee. The leg folded up under the force of the impact, sending Lillie crashing to the floor. "Besides, why bother healing your throat when you can't even stand? I would think that would be a more pressing concern." In response to Jenni's words, Lillie reached down to her leg and straightened it out, her face grimacing horribly with the pain of the effort. Jenni simply walked back and forth in front of the Toreador, wondering how else to have some fun with her.

"Do you think Julian will like you without that renowned singing voice of yours?" Jenni asked. Lillie did not even look at her tormentor. Instead, she continued to concentrate on healing her injuries. Still, however, she could not help but hear the words, and they cut into her. "Like I said, your voice will eventually regenerate, but it will only become as good as it was at the moment you were embraced. That means you'll lose the benefit of decades of voice training. You'll only be as good as any thirty-year-old mortal. That must be a terrible thought for you." Jenni smiled gleefully as she spoke, knowing the effect her words were having.

Lillie continued to suffer in silence, however. She tried not to think about how much of herself she had just lost. Every word that Jenni spoke was completely true, Lillie knew. She might never again sing as well as she was able to at the beginning of the night. However, she tried to focus herself, remembering that there were worse things than not being able to sing well. First and foremost was not being alive. However, what would be the point in being alive if Julian no longer loved her? Could he love her anymore if she suddenly became less than she had been?

"You're afraid of Julian not loving you anymore?" Jenni asked, seeming to read Lillie's mind. "I think I can put your mind at ease. There's no chance of that happening. After all, he'd have to love you in the first place, and he certainly doesn't. All he loves is himself and this shitty city. I can't imagine why he likes it. It's too damned foggy and humid here. Those cold winds off the water really piss me off, too. You know, I almost envy you, Lillie. In a few moments, you won't have to worry about dealing with San Francisco anymore. You can just relax in the comfort of being dead."

In one fluid motion, Lillie launched herself at Jenni, catching the child completely unaware. Jenni had not expected Lillie to repair the damage to her leg so quickly. Lillie allowed her hand to quickly drop to her thigh, and she produced a silver stiletto from underneath her garter. It was the weapon she always carried as a last line of defense against garou, but now she used it against the most powerful kindred she thought she had ever faced. Jenni felt the knife cut into her abdomen, and she scowled at her attacker. Lillie saw that Jenni's reaction was one more of irritation than pain, and she became desperate for an escape. She stood up, holding onto Jenni the entire time, and threw the child across the small room. Jenni crashed against the wall, and Lillie allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She knew that within moments the Toreador guards would arrive, having heard the commotion in the basement.

"Don't think they're going to come," Jenni said as she stood back up. "I have a wall of silence up around us. It's a little trick I picked up from a Ravnos about five hundred years ago. He liked experimenting a lot with his clan's abilities. See, the thing is, I can hear you, and you can hear me. We can both hear everything going on outside. However, no one outside will be able to hear us. We will be able to maintain our privacy." Lillie turned to run away, but immediately felt a vice-like grip on her right arm. She looked down to see that Jenni had raced across the room and grabbed a hold of her before Lillie had even been able to take three strides. No sooner had the child caught her opponent than she once again kicked the legs out from her. Lillie crumpled once more. "Now comes the fun part," Jenni said as she knelt down beside the Toreador primogen.

The child straddled Lillie, using her left hand to hold the Toreador's head in place. Then, with her right hand, she began to pound Lillie's skull. Jenni felt a thrill as the primogen's cranium caved in under the force of the blows. "How beautiful do you think you are now, huh bitch?" Jenni screamed as she pounded her victim. "Fuck you! Fuck your whole hedonistic clan! You think you're so fucking special? You ain't shit!" Grey and red began to ooze from Lillie's ears as Jenni continued to rain punches down upon her prey, and the Toreador's eyes became completely incoherent. Jenni smiled again. She knew that Lillie could feel the pain from her attacks, but could no longer make heads or tails of the sensation. Her brain had just been too damaged. Instead, Lillie would be forced to suffer her pain without any understanding of what it was, where it came from, or how to end it. She would suffer a hell on earth.

Jenni stood back up, once again growing her hands into claws. She raked across Lillie's arms and legs, leaving streaks of red where the Toreador's few remaining drops of blood came to the surface and flowed from the wounds. Then Jenni walked across the room and picked up the stiletto that Lillie had produced moments earlier. She stood over the Toreador primogen for a few moments, wondering how to deal with her. A smile came across her face, and she bent over Lillie's stomach. She cut in roughly, and started to jab the weapon into Lillie's abdomen, slicing all of the organs that were present in the entire chest cavity. Then she reached in and began to pull out Lillie's innards, making sure that the heart was left in its proper place. Jenni did not want to kill Lillie yet. She wanted to hurt her. After a few minutes, Jenni stood up and examined her work. Lillie still lay on the floor, and next to her was a pile of her own insides. Blood covered every surface in the room, dripping from the walls where Jenni had splattered it, and forming in pools across the floor.

"Now I guess we can finish you," Jenni mumbled as she walked back over to Lillie. She bent over the primogen's body and bit into her neck. Not surprisingly, Jenni found no more than a few drops of blood to drink. Feeding was not her goal, however. Instead, she wanted to drain Lillie's very essence, adding it to her own. Jenni drew all she could from the vessel, and then stood up. A seductive smile crossed her face as she began to comprehend all that Lillie had ever known.

"Time to play," Jenni said smoothly as she slowly walked toward the doorway, moving to leave the mansion. Her hips now swayed the same way Lillie's always had, and had anyone been there to look at her, they would have seen the same playful glare in her eyes that Lillie had possessed for so many decades. Jenni turned back to the carnage she had left behind her and decided that she would not have to do anything more to make her point. She had sent the desired message to Julian Luna – he was not safe anywhere he went. No one who was close to him would be safe, either. She would kill everyone, and take every last drop of blood to feed herself.

****

II

Boris Conroy sat in the back of the classroom, watching the man that was giving the lecture that he had wandered into. The professor's intellectual curiosity had brought him to virtually every guest speaker that was brought to the UCSF campus, but this time he was starting to regret that he had attended. The flyer that had advertised the address had made the topic seem far less boring. He took the paper out of his pocket to check once more that this was the theme he had been expecting. It would not have been the first time that a topic was changed at the last minute. "Chaos Theory: Analyzing Strange Attractors in a Weather Prediction Paradigm." Boris Conroy shook his head, figuring that the subject of the lecture may not have changed. It was simply too technical for him to follow. His area of expertise was history. As he looked around, he noted that he did not know any of the professors or students in the room. Doubtless many of them were involved with meteorology or physics, he figured. From the heavy emphasis on non-linear mathematics, the rest were probably mathematicians. Not wanting to get up and draw attention to himself, Boris leaned back and resolved to absorb as much as he could. After all, he would be around for many years, possibly centuries, to come. There might come a time, he dared to think, when he might gravitate toward a more theoretical field like the one he was hearing about.

"Now that I have laid the groundwork for those of you that might be unfamiliar with some of the terminology present in chaos theory, I will now approach the problem of weather prediction," the man in the front of the room said, his voice carrying the hint of a German accent. Boris looked at the paper again, noting the man's name. He was Professor Heinrich Schacter, from the University of Bremen. Conroy looked the man over, noting how the German seemed to fit into the stereotype that he had heard of mathematicians that studied chaos theory. Chaoticians, many of them called themselves, Conroy thought, correcting himself. Schacter was wearing a black suit, black shoes, and a collarless black shirt. A black trenchcoat was placed over the back of a chair at the front of the room, and a black fedora sat beside it. Conroy had heard that such dress was practically a tradition for those in the field. They claimed that by always wearing black, they freed themselves of the distraction of trying to blend in with those around them. The work was everything.

"The problem with predicting weather lies primarily in two areas. The first of these was dealt with directly in Edward Lorenz's early research into the topic of weather prediction," Schacter said. "Within a nonperiodic system, seemingly inconsequential variation on a local level can have unexpectedly large consequences on a global scale. This is, as I stated earlier, commonly referred to as the butterfly effect. I'm sure you all understand the basics of this concept." Conroy smiled, happy that he finally understood something that the German professor had said. He remembered having heard about the butterfly effect when he saw Jurassic Park. At that moment, he suddenly felt as if Schacter's eyes honed in on him, purposefully picking him out from the crowd. The feeling made Conroy uneasy. Even more unsettling, however, was the thin smile that crossed the German's face a moment later. Boris felt as if there had been a joke made that he had not been let in on, and the sinking feeling that was growing in his stomach made him fear the punchline.

"The second major issue," the German said, turning away from Conroy and continuing his lecture, "is the matter of turbulence. Turbulence, in a way, is what gives rise to the butterfly effect in the atmosphere. Many have tried to figure it out, or in some way prevent it, but I think we're getting past the days when scientists are convinced that the randomness inherent in turbulence can be accounted for." A hand was raised in the front of the room, and Schacter turned to the man that had raised it. Conroy remembered the German requesting questions as they came up, and listened carefully to see what was asked. He hoped that he was not the only one that was falling behind.

"So are you saying that there's no way this problem is ever going to be solved?" an old professor asked.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Schacter replied. "However, there is definitely the possibility that a degree of predictability can still be achieved." Conroy was not the only one in the room to look puzzled at Schacter's apparent contradiction. "What I am saying is that a clarification of terms is necessary," Schacter said, attempting to explain himself. "Absolute prediction is impossible," the German reiterated. "There will never be a day when a meteorologist can something like, 'People in Florida, remember as you're plan for your summer that there will be a Category 4 hurricane crossing the peninsula on August 17th which will then hit the pan handle on the 19th.' That is absolutely absurd. There are simply too many independent variables to consider. Don't mention supercomputers to me, either," Schacter went on, his voice sounding more disgusted with every passing second. It was obvious he had had this conversation before. "I don't care how many functions the best Cray can calculate. It will never be enough. The most that we can hope for is to discover the variation in terms of the atmosphere's strange attractors."

The German looked at the professors staring at him, noting that only the mathematicians seemed to have the slightest idea of what he was talking about at this point. He sighed, wondering why he even bothered sometimes. "A strange attractor," Schacter explained, "is one of the most basic elements of chaos theory. It exists within the world of phase space, which I will explain more fully in a moment. In the face of turbulence, scientists seemed to give up on uncontrolled turbulence, instead only working with smooth-flowing turbulent liquids. To an extent, they were right to do so." He stopped, seemingly for dramatic effect, and looked up at Conroy once again.

"I can see that my time is running out," Schacter said, turning from the history professor to glance at a clock on the wall, "so I will end with this point. It will make an excellent conclusion, I think. Once computers became advanced enough, we were able to start graphing the results of certain non-linear equations. You have doubtlessly seen some of these results in pictures of fractals. Fractals are simply equations that have been graphed in phase space." Schacter looked the group over again, taking time to choose his words carefully. He wished to make sure that he did not become too technical. "Phase space is a three-dimensional representation of all possibilities, allowing us to turn a set of numbers into a picture. Once these pictures were examined, it was obvious to anyone that this entire world of possibilities was never fully exploited. Every system seemed completely random, but only to a certain point. This constraint nature places upon pure chaos is the strange attractor. It is stable, meaning that it sets the final state of a dynamic system within its world. It is low-dimensional, allowing only a few degrees of freedom. Finally, it is nonperiodic, which for you non-mathematics types means it never repeats itself. To put it simply, imagine drawing an orbit in a limited space so that it would never repeat itself. In order to accomplish this, the orbit would need to consist of an infinitely long line in a finite area. In other words, it would be fractal.

"The atmosphere is a system with strange attractors," Schacter said. "There can be completely unpredictable randomness, but it will always occur within certain parameters. For instance, Miami might be hit by a hurricane next August 17, but then again it might be sunny. One thing we can be certain of, however, is that it will not snow. Unless, of course, the system is disrupted by unforeseen events that change the very nature of the system, such as having the planet fall from its orbit and out of the solar system. That is highly unlikely, though I must, in the interest of precision, mention that it certainly a mathematical possibility that such a thing could occur. So I have to say, in closing, that chaos theory has shown time and again that the prediction of weather, let alone the control of it, is far outside the ability of humanity. Perhaps someday we will all evolve to a higher form of life that is capable of more, but for now I think we must simply accept the general unpredictability of the universe." Schacter smiled, as if he had made a little joke that no one else seemed to understand, and received a brief applause from the attendees.

Conroy stayed behind after the lecture, wanting to speak with the German. It had been the eye contact, Boris admitted to himself. Something in Schacter's eyes seemed to hint at knowing the history professor. Conroy watched as a small group traded questions and theories with the German, but within fifteen minutes everyone else had departed, going to a small reception downstairs. Once the two men were alone, Schacter turned to Boris and walked toward the back of the room.

"You did not seem to be following along as well as some of the others," he said. "Are you sure you were in the right room?"

"I asked myself the same question a while back," Conroy replied, feeling an inexplicable nervousness at the German's approach. "I think I kept up with the main points, however. I'm just a history professor, actually."

"This is a strange place for a history professor," Schacter commented. "Although there have been some that have tried to apply chaos theory mathematics to the realm of the social sciences."

"Really?" Conroy asked, suddenly intrigued. "What have been their areas of interest?"

"They are as varied as the possibilities allowed by a strange attractor," Schacter replied. "Which brings me to the question I wish to ask of you. Do you know what I was really talking about?"

"I told you, I just followed the main parts," Boris repeated.

"No, my studies have nothing to do with weather," Heinrich answered. "My area of interest is actually those that are like you."

"What?" Boris asked quickly, suddenly feeling very defensive.

"You are kindred," Schacter commented. "There is no point in denying it. My comments about strange attractors were meant for you. The kindred are a strange attractor."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Conroy said, standing quickly and backing toward the back wall. "Perhaps we should be getting to the reception."

"You won't be going to the reception," Schacter replied, his tone holding an air of finality that sent a shiver down Conroy's spine. "Humanity offers an infinite number of possibilities for the universe, but you and those like you constrain the mortals. You live for centuries, and hate change. You work against it. While human history has had a definite progression, it is one that is slower than would probably have occurred had the mortals been left to fend for themselves. I work to destroy this control."

"You're a hunter?" Conroy asked. For a few brief moments, he had thought that he might have met one of his own. However, he had quickly realized that this was unlikely. He remembered hearing that Schacter had flown into San Francisco that afternoon. No kindred could go walking around during the day. If he was mortal, though, Boris still knew that there would be hope. He started to utilize the blood that gave him his unlife. His strength increased dramatically, and his physical quickness was augmented. Should the German attack, he was certain he would be able to defend himself.

Rather than strike, Schacter took a step backward. A short moment later, Conroy felt his strength completely fade. His legs came out from under him, and he fell heavily to the floor. "I suppose you are wondering what's going on?" Schacter asked with a wide grin. "There are several things about kindred that I have discovered over the years. For instance, have you heard that the oldest of your kind can no longer survive on the blood of mortals? It's true." He looked down at the Brujah history professor, and saw an almost vacant stare being returned to him. Knowing his opponent was completely at his mercy, Schacter continued. "Yes, that is why the younger kindred fear the oldest. They know they are cattle. What I didn't know until recently is that sometimes, something goes wrong in one of the younger kindred. They are also forced to feed on the vitae of their own kind. It seems as if the defect that causes this in the oldest of the kindred sometimes develops early. I guess there's always the chance of this, though it would be very unlikely, perhaps no more so than getting snow in Miami in August. Though I assure you, there is chance in everything."

"What… are you?" Conroy managed to ask, feeling what was left of his life slip away. Soon, he knew, he would enter torpor. He would be completely vulnerable to this hunter, and he knew he would probably never awaken again.

"I am Euthanatos," Schacter replied, knowing his words would probably have no meaning to his victim. "I am a mage, a man that can alter reality to suit my every whim. I control probability. For you, I simply increased the chance that the mortal blood within you would cease being able to support you. Now here you are." Schacter bent down and lifted the kindred just as he went unconscious. The German was on the top floor of the building, and remembered having seen a door to the roof. He would simply place the kindred's body outside, knowing that within a matter of hours the sun would rise and dispose of the evidence. Mages were not subject to the kindred law of the Masquerade, but Schacter knew full well just how important it could be to conceal the existence of his kind from the mundanes that would simply never understand.

****

III

"A man is here to se you, master," the young, college-aged woman said as she entered Thorne's library. It had been a couple of years since he had purchased this warehouse and converted the building for his use, but the old vampire was beginning to become pleased with his efforts. Part of him was still uneasy with the thought of settling down anywhere, but San Francisco seemed like as safe a place as any. True, it was inhabited by garou, mages, and large numbers of younger kindred, but it was still in America. Here, in the New World, he would be relatively free of the scheming of the elders, and would face almost no physical danger from either them or the younger generations that made up the majority of America's vampires.

"I assume it's K.T.," Thorne replied. Of course, he knew, it would have to be K.T. No one else would have been permitted to get anywhere near the warehouse without raising an alarm from one of the sentries. The kindred guard nodded. "Show him in." Well, Thorne reminded himself, he could expect to be only relatively free of the scheming of the elders. There would always be exceptions, even in the Americas. A few minutes passed before K.T. was led into the library. The young Gangrel looked Thorne over, trying to figure out if he knew why he was receiving this visit. If Thorne did know, K.T. was unable to see any signs of it.

"I'm glad you're taking time to see me," K.T. said graciously

"I'm over a thousand years old," Thorne replied with an almost friendly smile. "Time is something I can afford to be generous with. What is it that you wish to discuss?" Thorne looked the Gangrel over briefly, noting that he seemed to be somewhat uneasy. That struck Thorne as odd. K.T. always seemed somewhat detached from, though still well aware of, what was going on around him, a trait that made him an excellent mercenary, and an even better messenger. Despite the fact that Thorne was well aware of K.T.'s associations, he had grown to be somewhat fond of him. He could see what K.T.'s superiors had found so appealing in the Gangrel, a kindred of such youth that indoctrination was almost unheard of.

"My associates have some concerns," K.T. said after a brief moment, taken to make sure he did not misspeak. "Earlier this evening, just after dusk, in fact, Basil Romanov was killed." Thorne looked at the Gangrel with obvious surprise, and K.T. made a mental note that he had seemed able to actually present Thorne with a piece of unknown information. Over the past few months, he had come to realize that Thorne was the driving force behind many of the aspects of kindred life in the city. This was the first time that it appeared, at least at first blush, that Thorne had not orchestrated events.

"Do you know who was behind it?" Thorne asked, wondering who could have succeeded in such an attack. The old kindred had come to respect Basil's strength, and was well aware that the prince of Oakland's defenses were considerably formidable.

"It's funny you should ask," K.T. commented. "My associates were wondering whether you were behind it." K.T. unconsciously shuffled his feet a couple of inches back toward the door, betraying his discomfort at the situation. He was well aware of Thorne's strength. If the elder had indeed been behind the massacre, and wanted that fact hidden, he would doubtless rip K.T. to pieces just as brutally.

"I do not get involved, I simply watch," Thorne replied. "Your masters are well aware of that. I resent your implications."

"I never said that I suspect you," K.T. clarified. K.T. allowed himself to relax as soon as Thorne had spoken. Though he knew the older kindred would probably be very capable of deceiving him, a voice in the back of his head said that Thorne was playing straight. Indeed, there was no true reason to lie. K.T. would be completely unable to do anything about the situation, should he have wanted to. Thorne had only to fear K.T.'s superiors, and they would not arrive for days, if they came at all. Thorne would be very able to evade them. "I simply told you what others are whispering."

"I am grateful that you seem to have such faith in me," Thorne said wryly. "What can you tell me about the attack?"

"It was brutal," K.T. replied, trying to recall the scene. He and Erica had visited Basil's home as soon as the police had left, and they had undertaken their own investigation. K.T. had thought to employ Erica's ability to read auras, to look into the items in the building, to see through the eyes of inanimate objects what had occurred earlier in the night. All the Gangrel had gotten for his efforts was a catatonic Ventrue. Erica had screamed at what she saw, and then stopped speaking, seeming to become completely overcome with terror. K.T. hated to leave her, but he had his orders. He needed to conduct this meeting before he could return to his friend. "There was blood everywhere. It seemed as if Basil and his guards were all ripped to pieces. My first thought was that it had been a pack of garou, but there were no bodies left behind. Of course, the lupines would have carried their dead off with them, but the kindred would not have bothered."

"So Basil's body was not found?" Thorne asked. K.T. shook his head. "Then he may yet live."

"Can you imagine Basil the Butcher not tearing the city apart immediately after someone attacked him?"

"No, I cannot," Thorne admitted, seeing the truth of it. If there had been no sign of Basil after so long, they could not hope to see him again. Even if he was alive, however, the fact was that someone had attacked him. If K.T. was accurate in his description, there had at least been a few guards killed, even if Basil had escaped. The guards were old themselves, and no pushovers in battle. An unknown threat obviously existed.

"You have any thoughts as to who could have done this?" K.T. asked. He was obviously speaking for his associates. The Gangrel's superiors were well aware of the fact that Thorne had what were probably the most extensive files on the kindred anywhere in the world. If they could not have him as a suspect, they wanted someone else. Thorne stopped to ponder what that meant. _Had Basil been one of them, and they wanted to avenge one of their own? Had he known something that was valuable to them? Did someone that considered Basil important know something about them? Did they consider Basil's murderer a threat to themselves?_ There were so many questions.

"Give me a few minutes," Thorne replied. He began typing, preparing parameters for a search of his files. "I can only give you a list of possible kindred candidates," Thorne said as his computer began compiling the information. "If it was garou, mages, the Inquisition, or anything else, I cannot help you."

"I know," K.T. replied. "I was thinking, with what appears to be so efficient a killing, albeit brutal, do you think an Assamite might have been behind it?"

"No."

"That was awfully quick. You're not even going to consider the possibility?"

"I do not need to," Thorne replied, the irritation evident in his voice. "Many years ago, an Assamite was contracted to kill Basil. He failed. The Assamites never accept a contract on a kindred that has escaped them. It is a matter of honor. Once a kindred has killed an Assamite that has been sent to assassinate him, he is forever protected from that clan."

"I didn't know that," K.T. replied. "What about the Assamites in the Sabbat? They don't exactly play by the same rules, do they?"

"I know all of the Assamites in the Sabbat," Thorne replied. He saw K.T. shocked face, and continued. "More accurately, I suppose, I should say I know of them. There are two, maybe three Sabbat Assamites that could have had even a slight chance of killing Basil and all of his guards at once. None of them are anywhere near here."

"How can you be sure?"

"Believe me, I make sure I keep very good track of them," Thorne said. "The Assamite antitribu have not been affected by the curse that the Tremere placed upon the rest of the clan. They would find me to be a fairly attractive prize."

K.T. nodded his head in understanding. Hundreds of years ago, the Tremere had cursed the entire Assamite clan, a result of their continued diablerie. No longer were they be able to feed upon the blood of other kindred. Vampire blood would be forever poisonous to them all. The antitribu, those Assamites that existed in the Sabbat and away from their brethren, were not affected by this curse. They would still be able to feed on their elders, and would be delighted to find someone as old as Thorne. His blood would allow them to gain great strength. "How long is that going to take?" K.T. asked, gesturing to the computer. Thorne simply shrugged his shoulders. "Well, why was an Assamite sent after Basil?" the Gangrel inquired, trying to make small talk. No answer seemed immediately forthcoming. "Come on, we have to pass the time somehow. You might as well tell a good story. Or do you not know?"

"Of course I know," Thorne replied, sounding somewhat offended. He glared for a moment at the Gangrel, well aware of the ploy K.T. was using to hear something he might consider valuable information. "I do not understand you young kindred. For the past three hundred years, you have all seemed to think that conversation is a great way to pass the time. What ever happened to the wisdom to be found in silence? Be that as it may, I will tell you. It does seem we have nothing better to do.

"Long ago, Basil was sent to intervene on the Ventrue Justicar's behalf in a Brujah civil war. He killed countless Brujah elders, and even diablerized a couple of them. As you might expect, this did not sit well with the Brujah that survived. They set about finding young Basil."

"Young?" K.T. interrupted. "I thought he was fairly old."

"The civil war occurred in the mid-1300's. Basil was only two or three hundred years old at that point. Very young, especially by the standards of the time. He had shown amazing skill in accomplishing what he did. His blood was very strong. He came from a powerful line." Thorne stopped for a moment, and had a faraway look in his eyes. K.T. guessed that Thorne was very disappointed to have lost such a fine specimen. The Gangrel was well aware of Thorne's activities, trimming what he saw as the dead weight of kindred society. Thorne was what K.T. referred to as a social Darwinist. He felt that only the strong should survive, in order for the whole to grow stronger. He went around the world, manipulating potent factions into conflict in order to raise those that were strong, and allow their lines to continue.

"So the Brujah finally found Basil and sent the Assamite after him?" K.T. asked, after Thorne had sat a couple of minutes in silence. The Gangrel wanted to keep the story going, so that it would not be cut short when the computer finished its search.

"No. For almost three hundred years, finding Basil was a priority of the Brujah Justicar. Finally, one found him. Basil rewarded the Justicar by killing him."

"He killed a Justicar?" K.T. asked. From what he had heard, that was an extremely rare and difficult accomplishment. Of course, he had known Rayce, a man who had killed a Justicar, but that was the only time K.T. had even heard of it being done, to say nothing of being alive to have actually seen another killing.

"It is not all that difficult a task for those that have been alive long enough," Thorne replied, an amused smile crossing his lips. "Of course, the Justicars immediately cover up any evidence, as they want the rest of the kindred to believe in their aura of invincibility, but trust me when I say they can be killed. Anyway, Basil was always arrogant. That was not a trait he has only developed recently. He had the gall to stay in St. Petersburg, where he had killed the Brujah Justicar. Within a couple of months, the Toreador Justicar arrived to mete out justice. Refusing to be judged by what he saw as an inferior specimen, Basil killed him, as well. It is at this point that Basil seemed to have been taken over by a fit of common sense. He fled Russia, which was the smartest thing he could have possibly done. Like the idiot he was, though, he settled briefly in Prussia. While there he was discovered, and within a month the Malkavian Justicar had arrived. As extinguishing Justicars had probably become habit by then, Basil killed him, too. When he was done, Basil had killed three Justicars within a year and a half. The Inner Circle took notice, and they arranged for an Assamite assassin. Keep in mind that the Ventrue had even greater influence over the Camarilla in the earlier days than they do now. Getting the assassin was a compromise. It was agreed that if Basil escaped, he would avoid punishment for his earlier crimes. However, if he fell, he would become food for the three clans that had lost a Justicar at his hands.

"As you know, since you met Basil, he survived his trial by battle. Ahman Karohai was one of the finest Assamites at the time, but the larger, though younger, Ventrue cut him down. Still, the battle was the closest brush with death Basil had ever experienced, at least until tonight, that is. After the assassin, he reformed his ways to a large degree. In the three hundred years since then, he has killed only three kindred of note. One was a Brujah elder that had awakened and was causing problems in Europe. No one cared. Another was a Salubri elder." Thorne saw K.T.'s curious look, and decided to explain briefly. "They are a unique bloodline that is devoted solely to reaching enlightenment, or Golconda, as many of the elders call it. They have three eyes." K.T. nodded, and Thorne continued. "The last one was another Brujah elder, but he was Inconnu, one of the ones that does not claim to take part in kindred affairs any longer. The Inner Circle did not mind at all, though the rest of the Inconnu seemed rather irked. It may have been one of them, come looking for revenge."

Again K.T. nodded. He had heard of the Inconnu, and thought it possible that they had been involved. They were almost all at least several centuries old, and many had been around for over a millennium. They would certainly have the strength. The question was whether they had wanted to get involved that much. Chances were that if Basil killed the man, he had done something to draw attention to himself. If that were the case, his peers might not have seen it as necessary that they avenge him. At that moment the computer beeped, and Thorne turned to the computer screen.

"I have three possibilities," he said, looking over the screen. "One of the files is outdated," he added a moment later. "This one went to ground about twenty years ago," he explained, pointing at the screen. "As for the other two, I'll look into them. Both of these guys have never left Europe, though. I don't know why they would come over here, especially for Basil. He might have been big and nasty by our standards, but he's small-time compared to these two beasts."

"So that's all you have?" K.T. asked. "How long do you think you'll need to check into them?"

"It could take a few days," Thorne admitted. "I'll let you know when I find something. Still, I can't shake the feeling that something about this is familiar."

"What do you mean?"

"The way he was killed in his home, all of his guards there with him. He had just become prince, too." Thorne scratched his head, his movement betraying his confused thoughts. For a brief moment, a scene flashed through the old vampire's head. A small manse in Renaissance Genoa, where he could almost clearly make out five Toreador. Something bad had happened to them, but the image vanished as quickly as it had come to him. "I'm sure it will come to me, in time," he said. "I can also go through some of my archives," he added as K.T. was turning toward the door. "There are still a few old books that haven't been converted to computer file. From what I remember, there's no one in them that would even be alive anymore, not to mention be a threat. Still, you never know."

"Thanks," K.T. said as he walked out. While the Gangrel had to admit that he made his living solving obscure problems like this, he never had become comfortable with constantly dealing with the unknown.

****

IV

Toby looked over the two primogen that sat in chairs across from him. Both Daedalus and Matt Reimer seemed agitated, and neither was willing to hide it. Perhaps they were, alternatively, unable to hide it, the Toreador guard thought to himself. As far as he knew, neither of the kindred in front of him knew about the attacks that had occurred earlier in the prince's home. So either they were both more adept at coming across information than he had guessed was possible, or they were each already consumed with large problems of their own. Both possibilities unnerved him.

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Matt asked, wondering why the prince seemed to be keeping his guests waiting in the dining room. He had received a phone call half an hour earlier, informing him that he was to immediately report to the mansion for a meeting of the primogen. The secretary that had called had sounded as if there was the greatest urgency. Now, Julian kept them waiting. He had never done so before. Matt was extremely uneasy.

"I was instructed to wait until you were all here before I brought you in," Toby replied, obviously unhappy with the position in which he had been placed. "I doubt it will be too much longer." Almost on cue, Patrick Collins walked through the front door, Adam Stewart and Mario Cabrezzi following closely on his heels. Behind the three Tremere came two Toreador guards, who locked the front door and drew shotguns as soon as they entered.

"We can go in now," Toby said quickly, standing and walking toward the meeting room.

The first thing that Matt noticed was that Cash was not at the meeting. If there was so crucial a matter to discuss, he thought that the former Gangrel primogen would have been present. Of course, for the time being there was no official head of the Gangrel in San Francisco, but in an emergency Reimer felt that the shapeshifters would have been smart enough to organize themselves. It was very unusual. Toby led the three primogen into the room while the rest of the kindred that had come to the mansion waited in the dining room, having fulfilled their duties as guards for the time being.

"What exactly is going on?" Matt asked as he entered the meeting room. Julian simply looked at him in response, and in an instant Reimer noticed that Lillie's seat was empty. He had simply assumed that she would be waiting with Julian, as she lived in the mansion. The Telemon primogen quickly got a sinking feeling in his gut as he strode slowly to his chair. Behind him, both Daedalus and Patrick experienced the same reaction.

"Where's Lillie?" Daedalus asked, deciding to be the first one to ask the question that he was certain they were all thinking.

"Why don't you all sit down?" Julian suggested, motioning to the chairs that sat around the table. He looked at the three men that shared the room with him, and suddenly noticed how empty the table seemed. There were seven chairs, counting his own, but only four were occupied. Despite the fact that the Brujah were all but extinct in the city, a chair remained for the clan. Cash's seat was also vacant. Julian had called Cash personally, trying to impress upon him the need for gathering the forces of the city's kindred. The Gangrel had sounded unimpressed, and accused Julian of trying to manipulate some insignificant situation in order to increase his hold on the clans. The Gangrel that had led his clan for so many years had refused to play the role that Julian had prepared for him. Cash would have no part of this meeting.

The final empty seat was Lillie's, and Julian tried to figure out just how he felt about her death. There was, of course, the obvious fact that she had been killed within his own home. That made him nervous, perhaps even a slight bit paranoid. The personal loss that he had experienced is what confused him the most. He had allowed himself to carry on an on-again, off-again relationship with the head of the Toreador clan for decades. Now, with her death, the association would end forever. Some part of him told him that he should feel sad, or at least not as indifferent as he was. However, that was not the case. All that mattered to the prince was dealing with the anonymous threat that had come to his city. It was as it should be, he knew, but he missed the slight bit of humanity that he felt he had lost somewhere along the way.

"Julian, what about Lillie?" Daedalus asked after allowing the prince a few minutes of silence.

"She's dead," Julian said evenly. "She was killed here earlier this evening.

"What?" Daedalus asked, shocked that one he had known for so many years had finally passed into oblivion. "How?"

"There was an intruder, we think," Julian replied. "That's not all, though." The prince measured the reactions of the three men at the table with him. Daedalus had been unable to hide his surprise, but it was obvious that surprise was his only true emotional reaction. The Nosferatu had never cared for the Toreador primogen. She was an associate, and was always worthy of his respect and attention. However, they had never been anything that had come close to the level of friends. Matt also seemed surprised, though Julian guessed that the response was due more to the breach of the prince's security than to the fact that anyone he knew had died. The Telemon was a soldier. Death was nothing new to him. All that would matter to him was how to prevent similar occurrences in the future. As for Patrick, however, Julian was at a loss. He was completely unable to read the Tremere primogen. Some things never changed.

"What else is there?" Patrick asked. He had a terrible feeling about the situation, but he could not place exactly what it was that set him on edge. For some, the sensation might have been called fear. To Patrick, it was an oddity.

"Basil Romanov is also dead, along with all of his enforcers and bodyguards," Julian said, referring to the recently self-declared prince of Oakland and his coterie. As with Lillie, there was no reaction that Julian could term sorrow. However, as before, there was a bit of surprise. This time, however, Patrick also betrayed his shock. The primogen all knew how strong Basil was. The thought that he had been killed set everyone ill at ease. "Finally," Julian added, wanting to get the bad news out of the way immediately, "Daedalus has informed me that his Nosferatu have been disappearing for months now. The sewers are all but empty. He fears that there may be no more of his people left."

"Do you have any idea what's even going on, Julian?" Matt asked, hoping that the prince had come upon anything that might tip him off as to who was behind the deaths. He could not begin to imagine who could be behind such acts. He suspected that the Tremere might have a clue, as they wanted to meet with him, but he did not feel like asking Patrick at that moment. The Tremere primogen had contacted him individually, and Matt had no intention of letting the others know that the warlocks might be on to something. Until he had all the facts, he would play his cards close to his bulletproof vest.

"I'll tell you all I know," Julian replied. "It comes to this. As I said, the Nosferatu have been disappearing for some time. Daedalus kept this fact to himself as he investigated the matter. He then came to me with the problem two nights ago. Then tonight I received a call from Sonny that Basil had presumably been killed around sunset, though there was not yet any sign of the body. As we mustered ourselves to prepare for a possible attack here, we found Basil's remains in my study. Not soon after, we found Lillie's corpse in the basement. Both bodies appeared to have been mauled. I don't know what to make of any of it. I figured you'd all like to know that something is wrong. Do any of you have any ideas?"

"Well, since we seem to be tallying our recently deceased, why don't you add Stephen Jackson to the list?" Patrick suggested. "He was killed last night. If you remember, I initially told you that the fiasco at Fort Point was the result of my clan's attack on a group of anarchs. Actually, Stephen was out there looking into something. The attack that killed him was the real cause of the destruction."

"What?" Julian asked incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"It was an internal matter, Julian," Patrick replied. "We Tremere like to clean up our own messes. To be sure, we have to ask permission when we create one of our kind, but I don't remember reading that I also needed you to sign off on the cause of death on any death certificates that might be needed."

"You'd better watch your tone," Julian shot back.

"Yes, I probably should," Patrick agreed immediately, backing down. The Tremere primogen thought again about the presence his clan had detected, and the overwhelming sensation of irritation that permeated the city, growing stronger every day. Mario had modified his ritual to create an area of effect that surrounded the caster, but Patrick had not yet learned the spell. Without his clanmate being within ten feet of him, he was helpless against the mystical aura present in San Francisco. He would need to guard his reactions more closely. "I only meant to say that we considered this an internal matter, and I had determined to look into it myself. I believe my decision was comparable to the one that Daedalus seems to have made about his disappearing Nosferatu."

"Perhaps," Julian replied, seeming to calm himself a bit. "How about you Matt, do you have anyone that you would like to tell me about?" the prince asked, his tone conveying the fact that he did not actually expect an answer.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Matt responded. Julian seemed to almost glare in response to the Telemon primogen. "Magnus was also killed last night," Matt said. He took care to omit the fact that his clanmate had been killed at the same time Stephen had, while holding a secret meeting with the warlocks. For a brief flash Matt thought he had detected a look of approval on Patrick's face, but he was uncertain.

"And I assume you'll also tell me this was an internal matter?"

"Yes," Matt replied. _Why not give that response?_ he wondered. _It seems to have worked so far_.

"I have had enough of this," Julian said. "Perhaps if one or all of you had bothered to come to me earlier, this evening's blood bath might have been avoided. Now I have to deal with several deaths. Maintaining the Masquerade at Basil's home was no small chore, let me assure you. While it is easy enough to conceal Lillie's murder from the authorities, I doubt I will be able to find anyone in her clan that is as capable of maintaining order. She had not gone to the trouble of grooming a successor." He said the last sentence with obvious disgust. As much as he was angry with the primogen that sat before him, he had to acknowledge that at least they had had the foresight to prepare for the possibility of their own deaths. Patrick had apparently been instructing both Douglas and Stephen. Matt had been tutoring Holden, and was always backed up by Magnus. Julian had Sonny for himself. Even Cash had gone out of his way to make Shelly seem like his heir apparent. Daedalus had apparently been close with a Nosferatu named Rex, a man that had been well respected by others of his clan. Lillie had never prepared a lieutenant capable of running the clan. Now the Toreador would fall into disorder, just when they might be needed most.

"If you wish to be made aware of internal matters, Julian, I have one for you," Matt said somewhat sarcastically. "I have one or more of my clan coming in tonight."

"One or more?" Julian asked. "You don't even know how many?"

"The decision is not up to me," Matt replied, obviously irritated. "I asked my grandsire to send help, and he said he would. He does not always see the need to keep me completely informed."

"Your grandsire?" Julian asked. "You mean Siras Telemon?"

"Yes, the founder of my clan," Matt replied, trying to remind the prince just how potent his blood actually was. Matt was young, it was true, but his potent blood, along with his extensive combat training, made up for some of the shortcomings of youth. He wanted to make sure that Julian never forgot that. He did not dwell upon why it was suddenly so important to him that the prince be intimidated by him, but he made the effort all the same.

Patrick, however, noticed what was going on, seeing the telltale signs of the increasing agitation that was a result of whatever presence his clanmate had inadvertently discovered. He knew that everyone at the table would eventually be at each other's throats unless some rationality was injected into the situation. Being Tremere, he figured he was the perfect one to take such a step.

"As long as the Telemon present themselves, this won't be a problem, will it Julian?" Patrick asked.

"No, of course not," the prince replied, remembering his place. He would not be as rude as to deny entrance to the city to someone that recognized the Traditions. It was irrelevant how insolent the newcomer's primogen had been. "However, I want them to come directly to the mansion," Julian said. While he would not deny admission, he would certainly make it as inconvenient as he could. He figured that would teach Matt to be more respectful in the future.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" Patrick asked magnanimously.

"I want each of you to designate a few of your people to take part in patrols," Julian instructed. "I've been thinking about this, and I think the Sabbat might be behind these attacks. It's not unlike them to take part in bloody massacres."

"Certainly not," Patrick replied quickly, "but it's not the Sabbat."

"What?" Julian and Daedalus asked simultaneously. Matt remained silent, not being too surprised at the revelation. If it had, in fact, been the Sabbat, there would have been far more than only two bodies at Fort Point. There was no way Magnus would not have taken at least a couple of Sabbat soldiers with him to the grave, to say nothing of what Stephen might have done. There had not even been any signs that anyone but the two that had met had even been injured. 

"My clan has detected a 'presence' lately," Patrick said, trying to explain his opinion. "I wish I could say more, but so far I can't. We discovered this accidentally, and have been trying to figure out what is going on." He could see that Julian was once again growing angry at not having been told, so the Tremere decided to explain the situation more fully. "This is something of a mystical presence, and therefore none of you would have been of any help to us in our investigation. We labored long and hard over whether to tell you, but the fact of the matter is that there's very little to tell. Perhaps Stephen found something that got him killed. Perhaps he knew too much. That is all I can guess." The Tremere primogen leaned back, displaying the most concerned and contrite look he could muster. He knew that Matt would be aware that he was lying, but that mattered little. His performance was for Julian's benefit. If Patrick had his way, then Matt would be an ally before the night was out, and nothing that the Telemon had against him would be overly significant.

"So you don't really know what's going on, do you?" Julian asked Patrick, trying to get the bottom line in the situation.

"That is correct," Patrick replied.

"I want everyone to move into the mansion," Julian said after a moment's thought. "There is safety in numbers. If we're all together, we can probably survive better."

"There is a degree of wisdom in that," Matt commented with a chuckle. "But if you want to be safe, you should come to my Compound. Remember what one small pack of garou was able to do to this place?" the Telemon asked, referring to the werewolf assault a few years earlier that had left part of Julian Luna's mansion in flames. "There's no telling what we're even facing right now, and the Telemon Compound is sealed up better than any other building in the city."

"This is a mystical threat," Patrick replied. "There are some things that bullets and guards cannot protect you against. I hate to divide us even more on this issue, but the only safe place in the city is my clan's chantry. I think we would be able to set up some kind of temporary quarters for the kindred of the city if we want to use that as our base of operations."

"I do not care what the other clans will be doing," Daedalus said softly. "As always, Julian, I will stand by your side, come what may."

"Thank you," the prince said, a warm smile crossing his face. After so many years, and so many battles, the only friend that Julian could truly say he had left was the old Nosferatu primogen. Knowing that Daedalus would be by his side made him feel safer somehow, and the prince's mood lightened somewhat. "I expect each of you will be declining my offer of residence?" Julian asked Matt and Patrick.

"Yes," Matt replied, a twinge of arrogance in his voice. Julian seemed about to take issue with the primogen's tone, but thought better of it. He had to choose his battles carefully. True, he wanted to rip out the Telemon's heart for his insolence, but that could wait for a more opportune time.

"Regretfully, I must remain in the chantry," Patrick said. "I wish I could accept, but if my people are to discover who is behind these attacks, and the nature of this mystical presence, they will need the resources that we have at our home. No other location will do for us." Patrick had never even considered accepting Julian's offer, but he still saw no reason to not be gracious in declining to accept the prince's hospitality. Should they survive this latest threat, he might come to need something from Luna.

"Then we are done here," Julian said. "I hope each of you stays in touch, and lets me know what you may find out." Both Matt and Patrick simply nodded their heads. The prince stood and walked from the meeting room, followed closely by Daedalus.

"You wanted to meet with me," Matt said to Patrick once the prince had gone. Patrick nodded. "You'll tell me everything you know?" Again Patrick nodded. "Then let's go," Matt said. "I'll be bringing Holden with me." Patrick smiled and stood from his chair, leading the way out of the meeting room. He hoped that by the time he was done with his discussions, he would have the alliance that he felt he needed with the Telemon.

****

V

Cash sat back on his couch, paying only a slight bit of attention to the movie that was on the television. He felt that 'The Usual Suspects' was one of the finest movies ever created in the history of American cinema, but was nonetheless preoccupied by his guest. He looked at Jana sitting next to him, noticing how she was apparently enthralled by the development of the movie's story.

"The greatest trick the devil pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist," Kevin Spacey said on the screen, referring to the enigmatic Keyser Söze. Despite her interest in the film, Jana found herself sneaking occasional glances at Cash, catching him gazing at her. The younger Gangrel smiled, confident that she knew what was on her primogen's mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Jana asked coyly, slowly moving from her end of the couch to sit against Cash. She noted that he did not make any move to retreat from her advance, and so she moved closer, beginning to lean her weight against Cash's body. Jana had been attracted to Cash since she had met him, and felt that to some degree he had felt the same about her. However, there had always been Sasha. The Brujah female had forever stood between Jana and the man that she wanted so desperately.

"You want to talk about what I'm thinking?" Cash asked in a low whisper, allowing his breath to pass lightly over Jana's ear as he spoke. "There are better ways of letting you know than talking." The Gangrel primogen leaned in against Jana's neck, allowing his canine teeth to extend into fangs. He gently rubbed the sharpened teeth against her soft flesh, causing chills to run down her spine.

"Yeah, that's much better," Jana replied, turning toward Cash and grabbing hold of the back of his head. She held her primogen in a vice-like grip, and drew his face forward, kissing him passionately on the lips. Cash felt as if fire was running through his veins, an experience unlike anything he had felt since the earliest days of Sasha's embrace. As Sasha had slowly become more Brujah, something inside Cash had revolted at having her near him. The magic had been lost. With Jana, he realized with a thrill, the fire of passion was roaring as brightly as it ever had before. The primal urges that the Gangrel clan was known for began to rise up in Cash's soul, and he locked gazes with Jana, seeing immediately that she felt the same way.

In the heat of passion, Cash practically lunged at Jana's neck, first kissing the skin softly, and then sinking his fangs into her throat. As her blood crossed his lips, Cash sensed a fragment of Jana's life merge with his own. He could not simply feel, but also taste the desire that she felt for him. In the back of his mind, where there was still a semblance of rationality, free from the animalistic drives that controlled his conscious thought, Cash smiled inwardly. He thought he had lost passion, but he had been proven wrong. He had successfully broken free of his blood bond with Sasha, and was once again free to share himself with another.

Cash drew back his head, and turned his neck to Jana. The female Gangrel needed no more convincing than this simple gesture. She bit into Cash's neck, eagerly seeking out the jugular vein. Her fangs pierced the blood vessel, and she was able to share in his life the same as he had done with her. Cash was overcome with ecstasy. Part of his life slipped away, caressing the lips of his new lover, and he reveled at the intimacy of the experience. He knew that no mortal could ever achieve such desire. Sex was the closest a human could come to such a feeling, and he could remember from his earlier days that there was really no comparison. He felt Jana lick the wound that she had inflicted, and knew that she was done feeding from him.

"I've been waiting so long to do that," Jana admitted as she lay herself across Cash's lap, gazing up into his intense green eyes. "I never thought you'd get over Sasha."

"Neither did I," Cash admitted. "I finally got free, though. Sasha and all the bullshit baggage that she brings with her are finally a thing of the past."

At that moment there was knock at the door. A tinge of fear raced through Cash for a brief moment, as the first thought that crossed his mind was that he was cursed with awful timing, that Sasha would be standing on the other side of the door, wanting to work things out. The timing seemed too imperfect for it to be otherwise.

"Who is it?" Cash yelled, hoping his visitor would be someone he would be able to send away without having to move from the couch. He liked having Jana lying across him, and was reluctant to change the situation. There was no answer from the door, however, and Cash was forced to get up. He opened a closet that was next to his front door, and got his Glock from the holster that hung inside. Feeling he was ready to properly welcome his guest, the Gangrel primogen slowly opened the front door. Standing before him was Jenni. Cash cursed under his breath when he saw the girl, thinking that she was the only one that was more inconvenient at the time than Sasha would have been.

He quickly looked the child over, noting with disgust that in many ways she may as well have been Sasha. She was certainly dressed to play the part. Jenni wore a loosely fitting white lace teddy that was half-covered by a short black leather skirt, and accompanied by knee-high black leather boots. The ensemble was completed with a black leather biker jacket. Her hair seemed a little blonder than normal, obviously freshly bleached, and was curly, rather than straight, as Cash was used to seeing.

"What do you want?" Cash asked, not caring about being polite with his uninvited visitor.

"You have to ask?" Jenni asked with a broad smile. "I thought you'd be smarter than that, Cash. Oh well, after all, you are only Gangrel." The child walked past Cash and into his apartment, striding confidently right up to Jana, who was still lying on the couch. "A new plaything already, Cash?" Jenni asked with obvious amusement.

"Get out," Cash ordered, walking up to Jenni and grabbing her by the arm. "I don't want you here. You weren't invited."

"In case you didn't know, this is real life, and not a movie," Jenni replied. "You don't have to invite a vampire into your home in order for one to enter. I can come and go as I please."

"Not if I don't want you to," Cash spat, increasing the pressure of his grip. Jenni simply looked at the Gangrel's hand with apparent indifference, and set her gaze once again on Jana.

"You mind leaving us alone for a little bit, hon?" Jenni asked with unsettling confidence. "Cash and I have a few matters to discuss."

"Like what?" Cash asked, fearing he knew exactly what Jenni would want to talk about.

"Sasha," Jenni responded, confirming the Gangrel's suspicions. "This obviously has nothing to do with the Shirley Manson clone here, so it'd probably be best if she runs her trashy self along."

"What?" Cash asked, using his grip on Jenni's arm to whirl her around to face him. "I've just about had enough of this."

"It's alright, Cash," Jana said, revealing her discomfort with the situation. "I can go. I'll catch up with you later."

"You don't have to," Cash replied.

"I know," Jana said with a thin smile. "You have a couple of things to work out, though. We can have some more fun when you're through here." She smiled as she spoke, and Cash began to feel a slight bit better about the situation. Jana walked toward the door, stopping briefly to pick up her black leather jacket, and walked out, confident that later she and Cash would be able to pick up later where they had left off.

Once Jana had left, Cash's mood changed from extremely irritated to openly hostile. He tossed Jenni onto the couch, his eyes gleaming with anger. For her part, Jenni simply smiled widely and licked her lips.

"I didn't know you liked it so rough," she said with a slight giggle. "I might have come by even sooner." She tossed her head slightly, allowing her curly golden hair to fall over her left eye, and then lowered her head slightly, gazing up at Cash with as seductive a look as her thirteen year old body could muster. Cash was taken aback at her reaction, and found himself unable to find any words with which to reply.

Jenni got up from the couch and began to walk slowly around the apartment, paying attention to every picture that hung on the wall. Cash simply stared at her, awed by the child's presumption and confidence. When Jenni came to Cash's bedroom door, she opened it and strutted in. Cash lost sight of his guest as she walked into his room, and he decided to follow her. He was finally getting his senses about himself once again, and decided to throw out his insolent visitor.

When Cash reached the bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Jenni sitting at the foot of his bed, an almost longing expression on her face. She smiled as he entered, and kicked off her boots and lay over on her side, leaning on her left elbow. Cash was dumbstruck at the change in Jenni's demeanor. All he could think was how much more mature and seductive she seemed. Every gesture, every motion, was like something the Gangrel would have expected from Lillie, not the young vampire that lay before him.

Jenni smiled again, congratulating herself for the success she had achieved thus far. She wanted to keep Cash and Sasha close to each other. Doing so was crucial to the development of her own personal agenda. Sasha's irrationality had made the goal almost unattainable, however.

Jenni had long noted the rugged independence of the Gangrel clan. She had always respected it, even as she questioned the intelligence of the clan. After all, she thought, being independent was one thing. Desiring to be out in the wild, as the Gangrel did, was nothing short of ludicrous. The kindred had far too many enemies once they left the safety of their cities. The fact that the Gangrel not only continued to survive, but actually thrive, in an environment that should lead to their eradication was further proof that the clan had strength, and therefore value. Jenni was drawn to Cash because of his energy and independence. At the same time, however, she wished to destroy it. Her greatest desire was to strip the Gangrel primogen of the freedom that he felt was so valuable. She had to achieve her goal in a certain way, however.

The child knew that she could simply dominate the Gangrel primogen into submission, but this course of action would gain her nothing. Cash had to be subjugated through manipulation, not raw strength. He had proven the might of his will when he had been able to abandon the blood-bond that he had formed with Sasha. Jenni had seen such a feat accomplished so quickly only once before. It was that display of will that had made her decide once and for all that Cash would be hers. She would break him. She would make him her slave. She would force him to become completely dependent upon her. And in the end, she would abandon him, leaving him broken and vulnerable in a hostile world. She was amused by such games. Every time she broke the will of a strong kindred, usually a Gangrel, she was able to more fully appreciate her own strength. She knew that no one could stand against her. Before she proved her might again, however, she would have fun with her prey.

"I told you that I'd have nothing else to do with Sasha," Cash said, trying to gain some semblance of control over the conversation. The Gangrel was in his own home, but Jenni had been able to make him feel as uneasy as if he had been caught breaking into her apartment.

"She misses you very much," Jenni replied. It was true that Sasha actually did miss her Gangrel lover, though she would never show it. Jenni grinned again at the thought that, if nothing else, Sasha had at least shown the good sense to not wear her heart on her sleeve. That small amount of common sense had amazed Jenni.

"I don't care if she misses me or not," Cash shouted. "I won't have anything to do with that bitch. She's nothing but trouble."

"And what's so wrong with trouble?" Jenni asked with a grin. She began to lightly caress her own right thigh as she looked the Gangrel over, seeming to undress him with her eyes. "You used to almost go looking for trouble. What, are you pussy-whipped by that new slut you have?" Cash's eyes went wide with Jenni's question, not being able to believe the crudeness with which she framed her words.

"Jana has nothing to do with it," Cash replied after a few moments. "This only has to with Sasha. She'll never change. All she'll ever really care about is Sasha. I have no use for anyone like that." Cash looked at Jenni and noted that she seemed unimpressed with his answer. "She gets into trouble everywhere she goes," Cash continued, hoping he would be able to satisfy Jenni's curiosity, "and she always looks to me to get her out of it. Besides, she's related to Luna." The words had escaped Cash's mouth before he could stop them, and he quickly regretted his lack of self-control. He saw how Jenni's eyes immediately went wide with excitement, giving her the look of the proverbial cat that had swallowed the equally proverbial canary.

"So what do you have against our most righteous prince?" Jenni asked with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Nothing," Cash answered quickly. "I know Julian better than most. I was his bodyguard for years. Why would I have anything against him?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jenni said, beginning to slowly twirl her hair around her fingers. "Maybe it's because you know him better than most of us. I mean, let's face it, the guy is a total control freak. He's wound up so tight it's a wonder he can even think straight. Then again, he doesn't really think straight, does he?"

"What?" Cash asked, amazed at Jenni's lack of respect, the degree of which seemed to go even beyond what he felt.

"Oh, never mind all this shit about Luna," Jenni said, sitting upright on the bed again. Cash instinctively took a step back into the doorway, not knowing how to deal with the young girl. "What about you and me?" she asked with a slight smile.

"What?" Cash asked, surprised at how uncomfortable the child was able to make him.

"I'm not Brujah," Jenni responded. "There really shouldn't be any problem with us getting together, wouldn't you say?" Jenni fought back the urge to cackle madly. She was thrilled at way she was causing Cash to squirm.

"Why would you want to even spend time with me?" Cash asked, trying desperately to put his guest on the defensive. He hoped that getting her to answer questions would be all that he needed.

"Well, because I want you," Jenni replied, as if the answer should have been completely obvious. She once again licked her lips, knowing that the wet skin would reflect the soft light shining through the window. The true meaning of the words was lost on the Gangrel, however. Cash had no idea that Jenni desired to own him, body and soul. He saw only the physical desire that she displayed. He was unable to answer, and so Jenni again looked him over hungrily, head to toe, knowing that doing so would only make him feel more awkward. "I want you real bad," she reiterated in a breathy voice, beginning to lean forward, as if she might actually attempt to pounce on him.

"How exactly do you want me?" Cash asked, feeling that he needed clarification of the situation.

"I want you in every way imaginable," Jenni replied truthfully.

"You're just a child," Cash said. "You don't have any idea what you want." Initially Jenni only responded with a grin, holding eye contact with the Gangrel. She wanted him to almost fall over by the time she was ready to answer him.

"Oh, how little you know," Jenni replied, her voice seeming to purr. "I'll bet there are things that I could teach you that would change your religion."

Cash's head started to pound. Jenni's forwardness made him want to run as quickly as he could from his apartment, to seek solace in the company of any person other than her. He was even willing to join Sasha for the night rather than face another moment with the child. Still, however, he was held transfixed. He was kindred, no longer mortal. As a result, his urges and desires were not what they had been when he had been a mere human. Something in him wanted to get closer to Jenni, to get a taste of what she appeared to be offering.

"So you're sharing blood with that tramp?" Jenni asked, referring to Jana. "You're worth more than that, Cash. You could do so much more. Let me show you."

"What else could I do?" Cash asked suspiciously.

"Let me fuck the shit out of you, and you'll laugh at yourself for ever asking that question," Jenni replied with a wicked grin.

Cash was suddenly shocked and repulsed by the girl in front of him. The very thought of sex was as undesirable to him as drinking blood had been when he was still alive. Even if he had been open to the suggestion, however, he could not get past the fact that the girl in front of him was only thirteen years old. The immorality, the perversion of the whole suggestion grated against every fiber of his conscience. Just as he was about to respond, to convey his feelings to his visitor, Jenni began to lean back on the bed, supporting her weight on her elbows. Cash then looked on in shock as she slowly spread her legs, again licking her lips and gazing at the Gangrel with an expression that could only be described as hungry.

"You not enough man for a little girl like me?" Jenni taunted. "I thought you were big, bad Cash. You seem like the child here, though. You're a coward. Come on, take me." She glared at the Gangrel primogen, her eyes becoming more intense with every passing second. "Take me!" she screamed, appearing to be on the verge of rage that he had not yet pounced on top of her.

"I have no interest in sex," Cash shouted back. "All that matters is the hunger! What the hell's the matter with you? Why don't you just get your ass out of here?" The words were spoken forcefully, but lacked any emotion or conviction. Jenni could see that her host was saying the words he knew needed to be said, though he did not have the ability to back up the words with actions.

"I can make it really good for you," Jenni continued, her voice again purring. "I recently gained the knowledge from a Toreador. Everything the mortals feel, and so much more." She saw that for a brief moment Cash was considering her words. "I mean it, Cash," she added. "I mean, really, out of everyone in this city, I think you're probably the most in need of getting laid. You're too wound up, right now even worse than Luna is. Let me, how shall I say, straighten out all of your problems for you."

"Get out," Cash reiterated, speaking through clenched teeth, obviously finding the anger that had been hiding deep within him. His rage began to roll off of him, and it was all Jenni could do to stop herself from laughing.

"Well, if that's what you really want, stud," Jenni replied, sounding only slightly disappointed. She bent over to put on her boots, making sure that her top sagged a little, exposing her breasts to Cash's view. The Gangrel did not miss the movement, but immediately averted his eyes, not wanting to fall even slightly into Jenni's game. The child pulled each boot over her feet slowly, and caressed the skin of her legs as she got each one on. She then slowly stood and walked toward the doorway of the bedroom, stopping to kiss Cash softly on the cheek. She noted how his skin was warm to the touch, an obvious result of his anger at her. She smiled, however, amused at her own ability to play the Gangrel like a violin.

"You have absolutely no idea what you turned down tonight," Jenni said in a quiet, breathy voice as she turned to continue toward the front door. "If you ever change your mind, though, make sure you come and tell me. I'll be waiting with breathless anticipation." She then walked out, swaying her hips the entire way through the doorway. Behind her, Cash could only stand in dumbfounded silence. In decades of unlife, he had never come across a kindred that acted as Jenni just had. Not even Lillie, at her most degenerate, ever seemed to sink to such base levels. He decided he would have to do something about the child's behavior, but he had no idea what it would be. For the meantime, he resolved to try to calm down. He had become too agitated, too fast, and the feeling both surprised and upset him.

In the hallway outside Cash's apartment, Jenni was gloating. She had achieved her goal of setting Cash completely off-balance. He would, from that point on, always have to check his reactions around her. She loved making him uneasy. It was the first step in breaking him. However, for the duration of the night, she had little else to do. She decided to try to find Johnny Yashida, and find out just how much the diminutive Telemon might have told others about the incident at the Point.

****

VI

Sasha walked up to the Zuni Café slowly, knowing even as she approached that she was less than thrilled with the location that Tristan had chosen. First of all, there was a line to get in. If there was one thing the young Brujah had never come to accept, it was waiting in line. Beyond that, she noted that everyone waiting seemed to be just a little too concerned with being trendy. Sasha had no desire to mix with these people. She got to the back of the line, and briefly considered leaving. After all, she did not even like Tristan. She wanted to see Henry, but he always seemed to send his Irish toady rather than meet with her himself. After no more than thirty seconds of patient waiting, Sasha walked out of the line and strode arrogantly to the front of the café.

"Are you aware that there's a line here?" a blonde, thirty something woman asked as Sasha cut in front of her to reach the front of the line.

"Are you aware that I really don't give a shit?" Sasha retorted confrontationally. The man that was standing with the blonde seemed about to say something until Sasha turned her gaze toward him, immediately making him think better of getting involved.

"Ma'am, if you won't wait like everyone else, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," a young waitress said as she walked over to deal with the situation she had spotted moments earlier.

"Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, my ass would have been long gone already," Sasha said angrily. "I'm supposed to meet someone here, and I'm sure as hell not waiting if he's already in there."

"You're meeting someone?" the waitress asked doubtfully, looking Sasha over. She quickly decided that it was obvious that Sasha did not belong. The black leather jacket and miniskirt alone were evidence enough of that, even before Sasha started shooting her mouth off.

"Are you Sasha?" another waitress asked as she walked up.

"Yeah."

"I figured you had to be," the woman replied in a friendly tone. "I didn't think there would be anyone else coming here tonight fitting your description," she added with a smile. Sasha simply scowled in return, and the woman's mood darkened immediately. "Tristan is waiting for you inside. You can follow me." Sasha followed, strutting along as she fought to refrain from patting herself on the back for ruining the waitress' shift. They reached the table quickly, and Tristan simply glanced up from his plate as Sasha took her seat.

"Well hello to you, too," Sasha said as she got comfortable. Tristan only nodded.

"Would either of you be interested in any fresh oysters this evening?" the waitress asked. "They're the best in town, and they're on special for another fifteen minutes." Neither Tristan nor Sasha replied immediately. "They're an aphrodisiac, you know."

"Why are you still here?" Sasha asked, suddenly seeming to notice that the waitress had not left.

"I'm sorry for her rudeness," Tristan replied, gesturing to Sasha and thickening his Irish brogue to appear more exotic. He knew that was a great way to get an American woman interested. "An aphrodisiac is the last thing we need. We're little more than casual acquaintances, and we are only that much because of circumstances." The Irishman looked the waitress over for a brief moment, noting her firm legs, thin waist, perky breasts, and shiny, straight black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The waitress noticed him looking her over, and allowed a slight smile to cross her lips.

"Out of curiosity, when do you get done here…" Tristan started, looking toward the waitress' name tag, "… Lisa?" Out of the corner of his eye, Tristan could see Sasha grimace, disgusted at his blatant pass at the woman.

"I'm done in a little over an hour," Lisa replied, her slight smile broadening.

"I was wondering if you would like to go out for a drink or something," Tristan suggested. "This is my first time in the city, and I was wondering if you could maybe show me some of the better places to be at night." He tilted his head somewhat to the right, knowing that in that position the light would reflect more clearly off his eyes.

"That would be great," Lisa replied, focusing her attention on the mage's iridescent blue eyes. "Are you going to wait until I get off?"

"And then some," Tristan replied coyly, a sly grin crossing his face. "On second thought, Lisa, perhaps we'll take a tray of those oysters, after all."

"Coming right up," Lisa said cheerily as she walked off toward the kitchen.

"You didn't tell me that I was supposed to come here to watch you go whoring," Sasha said once Lisa had gone. Tristan did not reply, choosing to instead pay more attention to the food that was on his plate. Sasha watched for a couple of minutes, and finally felt her stomach start to swim inside her.

"I mean, I don't eat anymore and all, but when I did, I certainly wouldn't have touched that," the Brujah finally commented. "What the hell is that you're eating, anyway?"

"Roasted chicken over a Tuscan bread salad with a champagne vinaigrette," Tristan replied with a smile, taking pleasure in the fact that watching him eat made Sasha feel ill. "And this," he said, pointing to the glass next to the plate, "is milk." Sasha simply rolled her eyes.

"So is Henry going to show up tonight?" the Brujah asked, wanting to change the topic.

"No," Tristan said evenly. "He is still in the city, though."

"Is he ever going to bother seeing me?" Sasha asked. "I mean, I'm starting to feel like I'm being used."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tristan replied without a hint of well-rehearsed sympathy. "Henry is very busy. He has said that he's wanted to see you, but he's never had more than fifteen minutes available. When he even gets a moment to breathe, it's always been during the day, when you can't see him. I know he's working hard to get a chance to see you, though."

"Really?" Sasha asked, suddenly feeling special.

"Absolutely," Tristan replied, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "However, Henry does need a little bit of information that he thinks only you would be able to get."

"Sure," Sasha said, grinning ear to ear. It felt good to be needed again. For months she had been the only Brujah left in the city, and things had started to get lonely. She was grateful to her friend Henry for giving her purpose.

"Word on the street is that Magnus Horzbach and Stephen Jackson were killed a couple of nights ago," Tristan said. "People say that only one attacker did it."

"I haven't heard anything about that," Sasha replied immediately. "Can't say I'm too broken up about it, though. Those guys were assholes."

"Be that as it may, the situation is important," Tristan responded impatiently. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with the editorializing of an empty-headed Brujah. "We've also heard that there may have been a third person at the scene, someone who saw what happened. We need to know who that other person was."

"I already told you that I don't know anything about that," Sasha repeated.

"Could you just poke around a bit?" Tristan asked. "Henry would really appreciate it. He doesn't want you to put yourself at risk, of course. Just see what you can dig up."

"I don't think I can do this for you," Sasha said. She was overtaken with memories of some of the things that the Tremere and Telemon had done to her recently. The Telemon had wiped out her anarch friends, the Nightshades. The Tremere had threatened to use her as a lab rat for their research. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to find out who had killed Magnus and Stephen. If everything went well, perhaps more people from those clans would die.

"Please, Sasha?" Tristan asked again. "It would mean an awful lot to Henry. We're not looking to punish whoever did it. I can understand your feelings as far as that goes. We just want to know who it was."

"That's all?" Sasha asked. "You just want to know?"

"Aye."

"I'll see what I can do," Sasha replied. She immediately got up just as Lisa brought the tray of oysters to the table. The last thing she needed was to watch Tristan eat raw shellfish.

"Any chance of getting you to join me?" Tristan asked the waitress as soon as Sasha had gone.

"I still have a couple of tables," Lisa replied. "Besides, there'll be plenty of time for aphrodisiacs later."

****

VII

"So, what was it like?" Shelly asked. She knew that Jana had been going over to Cash's apartment, and now she wanted to know all of the gory details. Initially, all she got in return to her question was a broad smile. "That good?"

"Absolutely," Jana replied, her voice almost giggly. Her mood was in stark contrast to her surroundings. The two women were standing in an alley in the Mission District, outside a bar that many of the Gangrel spent time at in the old days. That had been before what Shelly referred to as The Purge. It had not been any one event, but rather a series of events. First there was an invasion of garou, then a war with encroaching anarchs, and finally the Sabbat siege. Of course, the Brujah civil war that the Gangrel had become involved in had not helped the clan's population any, but it was the previous three events, particularly the first, that destroyed many of the established Gangrel in the Bay Area. At present, the only Gangrel in the city that had been kindred five years ago were Cash and Shelly. The rest of the clan had completely turned over. New membership meant different habits and hangouts. Shelly's old bar had been all but forgotten. However, all the younger Gangrel still knew to come here when they wanted or needed to speak with her.

"It's great that you two are getting together," Shelly said. "Not only are you two free spirits perfect for each other, it also gives Cash yet another reason to run with his own clan. All that hanging around with Brujah was unnatural. He's truly one of us again."

Away from the two Gangrel women, a child stalked down the alley, darting noiselessly from one shadow to the next. Jenni smiled when she realized who she had found. She knew that many of the younger Gangrel would often come here for advice from Shelly. Jenni had never allowed herself to dream that a late night snack could be an opportunity to advance her plans. She moved to within ten feet of the two Gangrel and stopped, deciding to listen for a few minutes. She found it amusing to get to know her prey a slight bit before she destroyed them. It made it all seem a bit more personal.

"I had no idea Cash could be so passionate," Jana said, leaning back with a sigh against the wall of the alley. "I can't believe Sasha was stupid enough to let him get away." For a brief moment Jenni wanted to gag herself, but she thought better of it. The brief amusement she would gain from that was not worth exposing herself to her victims so soon.

"Don't mention Sasha's name," Shelly said bitterly. "I don't even want to be reminded the bitch exists. It'll ruin an otherwise good mood."

__

Finally something I can agree on with a Gangrel, Jenni thought.

"Don't worry, you won't be hearing her name much anymore, I'm sure of that," Jana said with an obvious twinkle in her eye. "Except when her uncle is punishing her again, that is." Both women smiled at the comment.

"So tell me everything that happened," Shelly said. "I want to know every little detail. What did he say? What did you say? What did he say when you said it?"

Jenni crouched quietly in the shadows as Jana regaled her friend with her account of the evening. The more Jenni listened, the more disgusted she was. From the way Jana told it, it sounded as if the really interesting stuff happened for only about five or ten minutes. She couldn't imagine why Jana took almost half an hour to tell the story.

"Then Jenni showed up," Jana said, her anger obvious in her voice. "If you ask me, that one's even worse that Sasha. The little abomination is every bit as obnoxious and irresponsible, but she has the idea that she'll get away with most of it because she looks so young and innocent."

"Oh, that's hardly why I'm so obnoxious and irresponsible," Jenni said as she walked from the shadow. "First of all, I'm obnoxious because I just don't like you. Second, I'm irresponsible because I fail to understand why your pitiful rules should apply to me."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Shelly asked, looking the girl over from head to toe. She noted that Jenni had apparently been raiding Sasha's wardrobe. The Gangrel hid her surprise at Jenni's ability to have gotten so close without being seen. Shelly had not known the child had it in her to be so stealthy.

"Well, I knew that you would be here," Jenni said to Shelly. "I couldn't believe my luck when I saw Red here shootin' the breeze with you."

"Red?" Jana asked. "Since when do I let people call me that?"

"Like I care?"

"Why don't you run along now, little girl," Shelly suggested. "It would be a shame if something happened to you."

"Are you threatening me?" Jenni asked, sounding amused, her voice almost purring. She took a deep breath and noticed a strange sensation within her. It was almost like she was sexually aroused. The girl smiled, immediately realizing the cause of her feelings. It was Lillie. The Toreador's essence had been absorbed, and to a certain extent, Lillie was now part of Jenni. The child realized that Jenni had apparently had a secret fetish – the Toreador had gotten a sexual thrill from violence. The realization made Jenni smile.

"Let's just say no one would shed a tear if our resident abomination simply disappeared," Shelly replied.

"Let's not," Jenni replied. She looked at her surroundings. They were about thirty feet back from the street, and the fifteen-foot wide alley dead-ended where they had gathered. Shelly and Jana each had parked their motorcycles a few feet from where they stood. The alley was very shadowy, the only light being what was filtering between the buildings from the street. It was late, so no one was about. Jenni doubted that anyone would hear the screams. "Yes, I think I have just about had it with your insults," Jenni said.

"Oh really?' Shelly asked. "You gonna make us stop all by yourself? I don't see Sasha around to help you."

"I hardly need that whore to help me," Jenni spat. "You call me abomination? Is that what you think of me? Why? Because I happen to have been embraced as a child? That's rich." She started to slowly walk toward the two Gangrel. Jana took a couple of steps backward, appearing anxious. Shelly held her ground, however. She did not seem to think that Jenni could do anything to her. _She will learn better,_ Jenni thought. "Yes, the rule against embracing children has been around for millennia, and it is a good law. However, I don't break it."

"Oh really?" Shelly asked with a smile. "You sure look like a child to me."

"By today's standards, perhaps, but not when I was embraced." Jenni took another small step forward, and another.

It was then that Shelly happened to look at the child's hands and notice the claws. The Gangrel's eyes went wide with surprise. The ability to manipulate one's form was a fairly well guarded secret of the Gangrel clan. It was the reason that the other clans generally referred to the Gangrel as shapeshifters. Beyond that, she found it hard to believe that Jenni had been able to master the ability to such an advanced degree at such a young age.

"Never mind the claws," Jenni said when she noticed Shelly's stares. "Pay attention to my story. I think you'll find it interesting." Shelly joined Jana in taking a slight step back, now feeling slightly unnerved. "As I was saying," Jenni continued, "I was not considered a child when I was embraced. When my sire took me, I was considered a woman grown. How were we to know that as time went on, thirteen year old women would no longer be considered old enough to be suitable for marriage. Hell, there are lots of thirteen-year-old girls that can't even date yet. How's that for things changing over the years?" She looked at the two Gangrel in front of her, and spread her lips in a wide grin, revealing her fangs.

"How old are you?" Shelly asked, suddenly not wanting to know the answer. Waves of power seemed to be rolling off of the child in front of her, and each one sent a tide of fear over her. She drew her Glock and pointed it at Jenni, hoping that feeling the weapon in her hand would help instill some confidence. It did not.

"You don't really want to know that," Jenni replied.

Shelly felt her legs give out under her, and she fell to the ground. A moment later, her mind registered that Jenni was moving. She realized with horror that the child had been able to strike and disable her before she had even been able to react to the attack. She looked toward Jana, and saw her clanmate standing face to face with Jenni. In the blink of an eye, Jana had been thrown against the wall at the end of the alley, being knocked slightly senseless. Shelly raised her arm to fire her weapon at her attacker, but could only stare in disbelief as she realized that her hand was no longer attached. She looked to the ground and saw her hand lying in a shadow, still grasping the Glock. Once Shelly realized that she had been injured, the pain hit her. Agony swept up her arm, almost causing her to pass out. As bad as that was, however, the suffering she felt in her abdomen was worse. Afraid to look down, Shelly had to force herself to examine the wound she knew she had taken. The sight alone was enough to send her head spinning, to say nothing of the pain. A large, jagged gash ran directly across her stomach, and a large part of her small intestine had been ripped out and spilled onto the concrete. In desperation, Shelly numbly tried to pack her insides back into her body cavity, but by then Jenni was standing over her again.

"I must be out of practice," Jenni commented absently. "That swipe was meant to have sheared you in half. No matter. Now I have an audience." She looked down at the partially vacant stare that Shelly had fixed upon her, and kicked the Gangrel in the face. Shelly's jaw caved in under the force of the blow, and several of her teeth shot directly into her cranium, causing her to go into convulsions. "Oh, this'll never do. I need you to stay still." Jenni walked over to Shelly's motorcycle, kicking Jana again as she went, just to make sure Cash's newest lover would not be moving in the near future. Then she lifted Shelly's motorcycle over her head, and tossed it down upon its owner's shredded body.

Shelly felt what seemed like every bone in her body shatter under the impact from her motorcycle. She was completely immobilized, unable to fight or flee, and yet she lived. Why? Then she remembered. _Yes, Jenni wants an audience. An audience for what?_ Shelly tried to fight the pain, but it was no use. All she could think was how fast Jenni was, how strong she was. She could only wonder whether anyone else knew the danger that the child posed. She was confident, however, that she would never have a chance to warn anyone. The few thoughts she was capable of were suddenly cut short as Jenni tossed Jana's bike onto her as well. Shelly could not decide whether the child was being extra-cautious, or simply extra-sadistic.

"Can you see alright?" Jenni asked as she walked over to the crushed Gangrel. She grabbed Shelly's head and twisted it sharply around, snapping her vertebrae. Shelly's eyes were looking at Jenni over her own shoulder, but still she remained conscious, though she was even more unable to move now than she had even been a moment before. She knew that was what Jenni wanted.

Jenni strutted over to Jana, who was just then struggling to her feet. She looked at Shelly, and then looked at Jenni. Her eyes went wide with disbelief. She drew her own Glock, but no sooner did she have it in her hand than it was ripped out of her grasp and tossed down the alley.

"We'll have none of that," Jenni said, her voice sounding as if she was scolding a disobedient child. "Now I need you to listen carefully, so all of this resistance is just going to get in the way." Jenni punched Jana in the stomach, doubling the Gangrel over. She then threw her victim onto the ground, face down, and straddled her, holding her in position with only her left hand. Jana tried to break free of her attacker's grasp, but found she had nowhere near the amount of strength she needed. "Enough of this struggling shit!" Jenni spat. She leveled her claw above the back of Jana's neck, and sliced quickly. Her taloned hand cut easily through skin, bone, and nerve tissue. The Gangrel's spinal cord had been cut, and she stopped struggling. "That's better," Jenni commented happily.

Jenni then dug her hand into the Gangrel's back and wrapped it around Jana's spine, then ripped it from her body. Blood sprayed across the alley, and Jana screamed. With the nerves cut, she had no way of feeling what Jenni had done, but she had seen the blood. That was enough to make her fear what had happened to her body. Had she been able to see the gruesome sight that her back made, she would have screamed all the louder. Jenni tossed the spine away absently, dragged Jana into a seated position at the end of the alley, and crouched down in front of her.

"So you want Cash, eh?" Jenni asked. "Well, you can't have him. He's mine." She looked at Jana's shocked expression, and smiled. "Of course, he doesn't know that yet, but he will. It's just a matter of time." She began to caress Jana's cheek with the back of her hand, then turned her hand around and with her razor-sharp claws started to trace lines of blood on the Gangrel's face.

"You know, you're pathetic, really, just like the rest of your clan," Jenni commented. "And I think you just might be the worst of the lot. Look at you. You look almost as bad as a Brujah, for Caine's sake." Jenni stood back and surveyed the woman again. "What's with the black leather and dyed, punked-out hair? I guess Cash just goes for the trashy look, doesn't he? I'll have to try harder next time. Or maybe that isn't what drew him to you, after all. What was it?" Jana did not seem willing to answer. Jenni looked at her two defeated foes, and licked her lips. "All this fighting has made me rather hungry." She bent down and ripped into Jana's neck with her fangs, drinking fully of her defeated prey's blood. Within moments, she had drank the body dry. She looked over at Shelly, and then back at Jana. "What do you say we find out just what it is that Cash likes so much?" she asked the pinned Gangrel. She bent over Jana again and drank more, sucking the very essence of the kindred's being from her mortal shell, diablerizing her. Everything that Jana knew and felt poured into Jenni's mind, and the child stood up, giggling maniacally.

"Well, it doesn't seem like there's very much there," she commented to Shelly. "I have to say that this was one of the most empty-headed women I have ever killed. Perhaps that's the problem. Perhaps I'm just too deep for Cash. Maybe if I come down to the level of a 1990's juvenile delinquent, he'll find me fascinating, too." She looked at Shelly again, and figured that the Gangrel had only a few more minutes of life left in her. "Well, then again, maybe not. Let's see what you have to share with me, pretty." In a heartbeat, Jenni had pounced upon Shelly and gave her the same fate that she had given Jana.

****

VIII

Julian Luna walked into Albion quickly, not bothering to take a moment to absorb his surroundings. He had his guards to pay attention to details for him. Sonny walked in front, making sure no one approached the prince of San Francisco without being given leave to do so. Behind followed Toby and his blood brother Jack, another of the more competent Toreador guards that had been assigned to protect Julian. Luna had never been in a bar like this, and given his druthers would not have come this night. Circumstances being what they were, however, he had no choice.

_A presence,_ Julian thought, remembering Patrick Collins' enigmatic words. The Tremere had been able to say little else, other than that this mysterious presence was mystical in nature. The mention of mysticism had reminded Julian of the mages that lived in his city. He doubted that if the mages would ever admit to being the ones behind whatever it was the Tremere had detected, and the prince hung to the hope that the mages actually were not to blame. There had been tension not long ago, but an agreement had been made. Julian had led his people away from supplying weapons to the mortals, and they had agreed to leave the spellcasters in peace. In return, the mages had agreed to stop killing kindred, leaving them alone in the places they knew the vampires gathered and slept. It was a somewhat uneasy truce, to be sure, but it had held. Julian now went looking for information. If the mages were not to blame, then they might have some idea of who was. It may have been a slim chance, but it was all Julian Luna had.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hugh immediately asked as Julian and his retinue moved into the back room of the bar. The Ventrue prince noted that he seemed to have distracted the young mage, causing him to miss a relatively easy shot in his game of pool.

"I just want to ask a couple of questions," Julian replied.

"We have an agreement," Hugh replied. "It says nothing about leaving me and mine open for interrogation, but it does say you and yours should stay the hell out of here. You want to risk a war?"

Julian knew immediately that the mages were not behind what was going on. Hugh was acting tough, trying to put Julian on the defensive. If he had been up to something, the prince was certain that the mage would have been far more restrained. It was obvious that Hugh had no idea what was going on. "Some of my people have detected some sort of mystical presence in the city," Julian said, laying his cards on the table. The last thing he wanted to do was get in a verbal sparring match with a mage. He had little idea what Hugh would be capable of, should he decide to attack his visitor.

"You mean the Tremere have detected this 'presence,' " Hugh said. Julian nodded, and the mage spat, revealing his distaste for the warlocks. It was no secret that mortal mages had a certain hostility toward the Tremeres' blood magic. "It frightens them." The words were uttered as a statement of fact, and not a question. For the briefest of moments, Hugh seemed amused. As quickly as it had appeared, however, the look vanished. In its place was obvious concern. "What could frighten the Tremere?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"You suspect us, don't you?"

"I would be crazy not to," Julian said, sitting on a chair, allowing himself to seem more relaxed than he actually was. "When one thinks of a mystical presence, mages inevitably come to mind."

"If it is one of us, I don't know about it," the mage answered, and Julian could see the truth of the statement. "Furthermore, I have no idea what the Tremere are talking about. I haven't felt any presence. Are you sure they're not playing one of their games with you, trying to distract you so they can make a play for power? Isn't that what your kind spends most of its time doing?" Hugh held back any comments about Tristan, or the two mages Hugh knew would have followed their scout. Something inside him shouted that if there was in fact something going on, the hunters were not behind it. Even if they were, Hugh saw little wrong with it. It did not bother him that the kindred seemed to be uneasy.

"Usually," Julian said. He had, in fact, considered the possibility that the Tremere had fabricated their entire story. The prince had disregarded that thought. Too many variables seemed to lend credence to what Patrick had said. Stephen and Magnus had both been killed, and the Nosferatu had apparently been decimated. Then there was the mysterious matter of Basil's death, and Lillie's slaying within Julian's own home. _No, _he thought, _the Tremere are right. I can feel it in my bones. Something is so very wrong. Why can't Hugh see it?_

"Could you do me the service of leaving my fine establishment?" Hugh asked after a few moments. "I hear bad things about your kind. I hear that death follows you and yours wherever you go."

"And where have you heard that?" Julian asked, suddenly curious about how much information had already made its way out onto the streets. If any of San Francisco's residents saw any weakness in his position, he would need to know. The last thing Julian wanted was to have to split his already thin resources to deal with someone who wanted to take advantage of his vulnerable situation.

"Leave, now," Hugh repeated. "There is still peace between us. I would hate for that to change, simply because you overstayed your welcome.

Julian simply nodded in reply, and turned toward the front door. It had been a long time since he had allowed anyone to dismiss him so casually, but he had little choice than to accept the situation. The mages had power that he could never hope to match. Of course, his kindred outnumbered the mages, and in a war they would be able to hold their own, but not here. This was a place of power, and Julian knew better than to push his luck. He would have his answers, eventually. He would simply need to see what everyone around him did.

****

IX

The large kindred walked up the jetway slowly, a fiber of his being feeling as if something was simply not right. He felt on edge, a sensation that he had not experienced for years. There had been countless battles against formidable foes – werewolves, mages, Sabbat war parties, and the occasional Camarilla interloper that had taken exception to his sire's claim of being the founder of a new bloodline. During none of those experiences had he felt anything but the need to perform his duty professionally. That meant that there was no room for fear, or even simple anxiety. To this man, battle was an end unto itself. He had spent the greater part of his mortal life, and the entirety of his unlife, studying warfare. He had gained a greater understanding of conflict than most ever had. He could see layers upon layers, and understood how they interacted, much as a gifted artist could look at a finished work and see what its painter had been thinking and feeling at the moment the work had been created. He knew how entire armies interacted, what they all were dependent upon, and how to best create and exploit weakness. Most of all, he understood the effect that a single individual could have in the greater scheme of things. There were times when one man could control the fate of thousands. _But for a nail, the horseshoe was lost,_ he was fond of saying. _But for a horseshoe, the horse was lost. But for a horse, the knight was lost. But for a knight, the battle was lost. And but for a battle, the kingdom was lost._

It was because of the effect of the individual that he had been sent to San Francisco. His sire, Siras Telemon, the founder of Clan Telemon, had hoped that he would be the solution to the clan's problems, that his presence would be enough to bring events back into balance. It was a tall order. Siras' first childe had been killed, and his second was missing. The results for the clan could be catastrophic if he also lost his third, and final, childe. However, the feeling was that the Telemon needed to preserve their position in the city at all costs. It gave them a high degree of visibility, and proved their usefulness and loyalty to the Camarilla. If the young bloodline were to be expected to survive its infancy, it would need to find friends wherever possible. Thus far, they had done so in San Francisco.

The man finally stepped from the jetway into the airport terminal, and discreetly checked to make sure his Glock 10 mm pistol was right where it should be, secure in his shoulder holster. It was.

"Colonel Dietrich?" a man asked from the left. The large kindred looked to the other and nodded.

"That's right," he replied. "You can call me Marcus. Are you Holden?"

"No sir, I'm Ronnie Striker," the other man replied. "I'm Holden's childe. Matt wanted to keep Holden close for security at a meeting tonight."

"That's probably wise," Marcus replied, not bothering to ask what the meeting was about, or who was present. He would deal with that later. "We can't risk our people unnecessarily, especially when we don't know what's going on. Are you alone?"

"No sir," Ronnie replied. "I'm also with Brad Armstrong. He's Matt's other childe." Striker motioned toward a public telephone, and Marcus immediately noticed a large man standing there, scanning the crowd. He was obviously working security. "We were expecting Brett Taylor or Danny McLaughlin. I'm surprised to see you."

"I guess I'm lucky you recognized me," Marcus said as he began to walk from the gate waiting area and into the main area of the terminal, not wanting to stay in any one place for too long. As he walked, Marcus focused on every single person that came within ten feet of him, always expecting the possibility of an attack. He noticed the poles that could be used for cover if a firefight broke out. He noticed the snack bar, and the perfect opportunity it would present for an attacker to set up an ambush, as the crowd that had gathered in the area would slow both Telemon as they passed. After a moment Marcus shook his head, reminding himself that both Brad and Ronnie had doubtlessly checked over the area at least twice. He doubted whether he would find anything in a cursory evaluation that they had not already examined in-depth before he arrived.

"I knew you from a picture of you in the study," Striker explained in response to his clanmate's comment. He kept to himself the disbelief that Marcus could actually think he would not be recognized. With the way Matt spoke of the man, he was akin to legend among San Francisco's resident Telemon. Striker looked his clanmate over, satisfied that from physical appearance alone Marcus Dietrich was everything that he was purported to be. The man stood about 6'4", and appeared to weigh about 230 pounds. His close-cropped brown hair gave Striker the impression that Marcus somewhat resembled Howie Long, though the glasses were conspicuously absent to complete the picture. He dressed in black slacks and a black jacket, with a charcoal gray turtleneck underneath. Overall, fairly conservative but still impressive.

"I see," Marcus replied. "As for Danny and Brett, they're both busy with a reconnaissance mission, so you lucked out and got me," he added with a slightly amiable smile. "You serve?"

"Yes, I did," Striker replied. "I was in the SEALs with Holden. I was in a different team, but the same platoon. Our units worked together a couple of times in urban settings." Marcus nodded, satisfied that Matt had done well in allowing Striker's embrace. He had the manner of one that had seen combat. The clan needed more men like him.

"Where did you see action?" Marcus asked, noting that Armstrong had begun to follow his two clanmates from about twenty feet back. Presumably he would be making sure that no one was following either of the men leading the procession.

"My team worked a bit in South America, mostly anti-drug missions," Striker said. "We were in Baghdad during Desert Storm, too. That's where I worked with Holden's team."

"Any specialty?" Marcus asked, already trying to figure out how the clan's personnel could best be used. He was sure that Matt had already been thorough in structuring his people, but it never hurt to go through it again. Efficiency was essential in combat.

"Not really," Striker answered. "I was a sixty man." Marcus nodded again. That explained Striker's size. The man stood well over six feet tall, and probably weighed over 220 pounds. That was a bit unusual for a special forces team that prided itself on stealth. As a sixty man, though, he would have been assigned the M-60 in the unit. He would have been carrying an extra forty pounds everywhere he went. In using one man for the M-60, the SEALs were unique. In the army, teams of three men in a unit were assigned to work the large weapon. One would carry the rifle, one would carry the ammunition, and the last would be assigned an extra barrel and the tripod on which the weapon would be mounted. In the SEALs, one man carried both the ammunition and the rifle, and he did not use a tripod. He would simply hold the weapon in his hands as he fired. As this was not a job for any but the strongest soldier, it seemed fitting that Striker had been assigned that task.

"What about Brad?" Marcus inquired. Normally he would have waited and asked Armstrong himself what he had done in the past, but Marcus had run out of topics of conversation unless he asked what they knew about the situation in the city. The very thought of dealing with the predicament at hand made Marcus uneasy, so he decided to wait as long as he could, and simply make small talk for the time being.

"Brad was a Ranger," Striker answered. "He was in the same unit that Matt was. When he got out, Matt looked him up and gave him a job at the Compound. It didn't take long for Matt and Magnus to decide that Brad would be a great fit for the clan."

"So he was in Desert Storm with Matt, just like the rest of you?" Marcus asked.

"Yes sir," Armstrong replied. "He'll be good in a fight, if that's what you're wondering."

"I was," Marcus said evenly.

"What about you?" Striker asked. "I heard that you were in some kind of special forces unit, but no one told me what it was."

"Black ops," Marcus said. "The only thing my team ever did that you would have heard of was being part of Grenada. All our other missions were completely classified."

"I know the drill," Striker responded. Marcus had no doubt that his clanmate completely understood. The SEALs were also known to have done their fair share of covert missions.

The two men were at Striker's old Jeep Renegade within minutes, and were out in traffic before Marcus felt the desire to ask any further questions. "What exactly is the situation?" Marcus finally asked.

"We're still working on figuring that out," Brad said from the back seat. "Last night, Magnus met with a representative of the Tremere. They were both killed at the meeting, and the warlocks seem to be rather nervous about everything."

"I assume they claim to not have any more information than they've already shared," Marcus said, knowing the Tremere clan's reputation for secrecy, a reputation he could say from his own experience was well deserved.

"Initially, yes," Armstrong confirmed, "but tonight the Tremere primogen had agreed to meet with Matt. They said they'd explain everything they could." Marcus hid his surprise. If the Tremere were actually playing straight, or reasonably close to it, with the other clans, things were possibly worse than any of them thought.

"What do you know so far about the attack?" Marcus asked.

"The bodies were both mutilated," Armstrong replied. "Magnus may have gotten a look at his attackers, since he did empty his entire clip, but the fire pattern indicates that more likely it was panic fire. Other than that we don't know much."

"So you're sure there were multiple attackers?"

"Actually, no," Brad answered. "We've been making that assumption, because it appears whoever did it was able to use their bare hands to kill an experienced Tremere warlock and one of the best soldiers in the Telemon clan without even being injured. We find it hard to believe any one opponent could have done it." Marcus nodded.

"What about Yashida?" Dietrich questioned, again hiding his feelings. He had known Johnny Yashida since just before his own embrace into the Telemon clan. In fact, it had been Johnny that had made the introductions between Marcus and Siras. While Johnny had been kindred for a longer time than Marcus had, the two were actually fairly close in overall age, since Yashida had been embraced when he was far younger. As a result, the two men had always gotten along fairly well. Johnny had been every bit the blood brother that his position in the clan would have implied. The thought that Yashida could be dead was extremely unsettling, and Marcus worked hard to keep the thought out of his mind.

"As of the time we left the Compound to pick you up, Mr. Yashida had not yet reported in," Striker said from the driver's seat. "He's still missing."

Marcus smiled despite himself. The thought of Yashida "reporting in" was one of the most inane concepts he had ever considered. He concluded that the young kindred who had picked him up had obviously not spent enough time with Yashida to form any accurate opinion of his character. The thin smile faded quickly, however, as Marcus considered the possibilities. If Johnny had not returned to the Compound, he was probably either dead or frightened to the point that he thought not even the rest of his clan could help him. Marcus considered the options for a few moments, but could not guess which one was more likely. He would need more information before he could come to any conclusions.

"Do you two know Michelle Marlowe?" Marcus asked.

"Yes sir," Striker answered. "That's Yashida's friend."

"Has anyone tried to get in touch with her," Marcus asked. "Anywhere he was, she was never far behind."

"We've been by their apartment a few times already," Armstrong said. "There's been no sign of either of them, although we have heard that she was out with the Gangrel last night until the break of dawn. She called when she got in last night, and asked about Johnny. We think she's still in the city somewhere, but no one knows for sure."

"Go by her place again as soon as you drop me off at the Compound," Marcus instructed. "She's the only lead I can think of."

"Yes sir," Striker replied. The three men then sat in silence for a while more, and Marcus used the time to consider everything he had heard. One or more attackers of unknown identity and capability had already killed one, perhaps two of his clanmates. The only chance they currently seemed to have of learning more about the situation was in locating a man who might very well be dead. Just how much worse could the situation get?

"Tell me about the prince and the primogen," Marcus instructed, hoping to hear enough to acclimate himself to the situation before they arrived at the Compound.

"You'll be seeing the prince yourself in a few minutes," Striker said, obviously irritated.

"What?" Marcus asked, not able to hide his surprise. "Is he at the Compound?"

"No, we have orders to bring you by the prince's place as soon as you get in," Brad answered. "I think Luna ordered it just to inconvenience Matt."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Marcus asked. "I thought we were on good terms with the prince."

"We were. I mean, we are," Brad replied. "Just seems Julian wasn't happy about Matt not telling him about Magnus right away."

"I see," Marcus replied. At that moment, the Jeep pulled up to the gates of the Luna mansion. A Toreador guard was waiting, and waved the vehicle through as soon as he saw who was driving. "What the hell was that?" Marcus asked.

"Security," Striker said, obviously as disgusted as Marcus was. "Luna's using Toreador."

"So are they already accepting applications for the next prince, or are they being polite enough to wait until Julian gets whacked by some kid with a BB gun?" Marcus asked sarcastically, revealing that he thought no more of Toreador security than either of his classmates did. "Are they at least telepathic?" Marcus added. "I mean, how else would they know who the strange man in the Jeep with you was?"

"Don't get me started, sir," Striker responded.

At the top of the driveway, Ronnie brought the Jeep to a stop, and two Toreador walked up to the vehicle slowly. Apparently, unlike the guard at the gate, they had realized that while there were two men they knew in the vehicle, there was a third that they did not. Rupert, the larger of the two guards, drew his Glock and pointed it at the vehicle. The Toreador immediately recognized Ronnie Striker's Jeep, having seen it before parked outside the Haven. However, he had no love for the Telemon clan. He knew the soldiers looked down on him and all of his clanmates. They thought the Toreador were weak. Rupert allowed himself a slight smile. It was not that his clan was weak, he knew. They were cultured. They were a multi-dimensional clan, not the one-dimensional thugs that constituted the Telemon. Rupert had actually always been amazed that all of the Telemon seemed to stand upright, avoiding dragging their knuckles along on the ground beside them. He decided to have some fun with them before allowing them admission into the mansion. It amused him to wield the power that the prince had entrusted in him. He knew that the Telemon prided themselves in their strength. Sometimes it was necessary to take them down a peg, to remind them that they were not actually in control of everything they set their eyes upon.

As Rupert walked closer, he noticed a new face inside along with Brad and Ronnie. Again he grinned. So much the better. He would have grounds for giving the Telemon a hard time. He could not have asked for a greater gift.

"Ok, could you please get out of the Jeep slowly, sir?" he asked politely, hiding his distaste for the guests. Marcus smiled, appreciating the fact that with another fifty years of training, this Toreador might actually make a worthwhile sentry. He had at least recognized a possible threat. That was one necessary step. However, he dealt with it completely wrong. _Of course, how much could one expect from Toreador security, anyway?_ he wondered. _This one will learn. I will teach him._

Marcus could not believe they were asking him to exit the truck. He had been in a sitting position, and therefore far more vulnerable than he would be if given the use of his legs. They could have seen his every move, considering that the two Toreador guards had walked right up to the window. He could see laser sensors farther up the driveway, and decided that there was probably additional security besides the guards. Leaving him in the Jeep might have been the best thing the Toreador could have hoped to do. Now, however, they were going to give him the benefit of full mobility in the event a fight developed. Stupidity.

"You two stay in the jeep," Rupert instructed Ronnie and Brad.

Marcus sneered as he stepped out of the Renegade, while neither Brad nor Ronnie made a move. The two younger Telemon wanted to see how their elder handled the situation, and thus were more than willing to comply with the Toreador's instructions. They were both certain that the guards would be taught some sort of abject lesson. Marcus held up his arms, stating his name as one of them moved to frisk him. He smiled, knowing that he had underestimated the guards a slight bit. They had only gotten him out of the vehicle so that they could search him for weapons. Of course, he thought, they should have inquired into his identity before they moved to the frisking stage, but that was a minor detail. "I'm here to present myself to the prince, as Julian demanded, and according to kindred law."

"Fine," Rupert said as he began to pat Marcus down, starting at the shoulders.

"Don't bother," Marcus said, moving his hand slowly toward his shoulder holster. "I just have the Glock," the Telemon said, having decided on a method of testing the sentries. Rupert looked to where Marcus had indicated, and took the weapon away from the visitor. As Rupert took the pistol, the other Toreador finished frisking the large Telemon, obviously only partaking in a cursory search once the Glock had been turned over.

"He's clean," the other Toreador said. He then turned to Marcus and gave him a slight shove. "Get going." The large Telemon glared at the significantly smaller Toreador for a brief moment, but thought better of simply ripping the guard's head off. He decided to embarrass him instead.

"Christ, you suck at this, don't you?" Marcus laughed as he leaned over and produced a Beretta 3032 Tomcat from an ankle holster, placing it on the hood of the Renegade. He considered also taking out the survival knife and the concussion grenade he had concealed, but thought better of it. He had made his point. The second guard grabbed him roughly, trying to force him up against the vehicle. Seeing the attempted move, Marcus countered with a wrist lock, throwing the smaller kindred into the side of the jeep and knocking him senseless. Rupert then moved with the quickness of his clan, beginning his own attack on the larger kindred. Marcus moved just as quickly however, grabbed his weapon from the hood, and brought it to bear, aiming it directly at the Toreador's forehead.

"At this range, even normal shells will give you the Final Death," Marcus breathed menacingly, knowing that the tone of his voice would intimidate the smaller kindred. "Now let's go introduce me to your prince," Marcus said as he helped the second guard off of the ground. Rupert nodded in response and led the way into Julian Luna's mansion. Behind Marcus and his Toreador escorts, Ronnie and Brad sat in the jeep, neither one able to stop the hysterical laughter that had overtaken them.

Marcus walked into Julian Luna's home slowly, with his head held high. He was used to being in the presence of princes, as his own sire held that position back in Pennsylvania. He had been to several meetings of Camarilla princes that were planning strategies to keep encroaching Sabbat raiders at bay. He would not allow Julian Luna to hold his power over him.

"I assume you are Matt's clanmate," Julian said as he walked quickly down the hall toward Marcus and his two escorts.

"Yes, I am," Marcus replied. He was held slightly transfixed, despite his intentions to not be impressed by San Francisco's prince. The Telemon stood before Julian Luna and had to admit that the man was far more of a presence than he had been led to believe. _Of course, he would have to be_, Marcus thought, remembering that Luna's city was constantly under siege by anarchs and Sabbat war parties. While the overall security in and around the mansion was sorely lacking, Marcus still concluded that Julian Luna was rather safe. He could not imagine many kindred he had ever met being able to simply overpower the city's prince.

"So who are you?" Julian asked the Telemon as he motioned for the Toreador to return to their positions outside. Before getting a response, the prince turned his back to the Telemon, a move that Marcus considered somewhat foolish, and led him down the hall to his study.

"My name is Marcus Dietrich," the Telemon said as he followed the prince.

"I don't believe I've ever heard of you," Julian said. "From what I understand, the situation here is somewhat sticky, what with Magnus being killed." Marcus noted that Julian did not mention Yashida, and concluded that Matt might not have shared the whole story with his prince. Marcus decided that he would follow suit. "I would think Siras Telemon would have sent more than just one of you if he perceives a problem," Julian commented.

"Not yet," Marcus replied. "My orders are to evaluate the situation, and then consult my sire for guidance."

"Siras is your sire, then?" Julian asked, quickly getting an idea of just how seriously the clan's founder seemed to have taken recent events.

"That's correct," Marcus said. "I am the third childe of Siras Telemon, and the Judge Advocate General of the clan."

"Judge Advocate General?" Julian asked, intrigued at the title. It was not something he had ever heard before within kindred society.

"It is a position that the clans of the Camarilla would refer to as the Justicar," Marcus replied, noting that his words had the desired effect on the prince. For a brief moment Julian Luna became obviously anxious, just as Marcus wanted. He desired to control the conversation, and remembered that Julian had recently had a run-in with the Brujah Justicar. Just mentioning the word was enough to distract his host. "Of course, since we are a highly disciplined clan, we have a need to enforce the rules that our founder has created for us," Marcus explained. "We have our own courts martial, so to speak. I preside over them, and can assign punishment as I see fit. I have full authority over any member of my clan other than Siras himself." Marcus kept to himself the concerns he had had since Magnus had reappeared on the scene. He had wondered if his authority would actually have been recognized over someone that held a higher position in the clan's hierarchy. With Magnus dead, however, that was no longer an issue. Now the only one that could ever make a claim against Marcus' power would be Yashida, and it was very likely that he was also extinguished. It was possible that Marcus was finally second only to Siras in fact, as well as in name.

"I see," Julian said in a low voice. "Given your responsibilities in your clan, I would assume you are aware of the Traditions, and will follow them."

"Of course," Marcus replied his tone slightly indignant.

"Then you are welcome in my city," Julian said formally. "Thank you for taking the time to see me. I know you had other matters that you need to deal with."

"Yes," Marcus said as he turned and headed to the front door. Indeed, there were several other matters to attend to, and he had little time to spend with a self-important prince. As he walked out of the mansion, Marcus silently wondered for a brief moment why he was suddenly so agitated. He shook the thought from his mind, however, and climbed back into the jeep.

"Take me to the Compound," he ordered absently, and Striker put the vehicle in gear and took off into the night.

Johnny Yashida had told Marcus that he was greatly impressed with Matt's Compound. Apparently, the defenses were second to none that Yashida had ever seen in a personal home, and Marcus had looked forward to seeing for himself just how formidable a haven Matt had constructed. As Striker pulled up to the front gate, Marcus immediately noted the two sentries. The perimeter itself was a six-foot high wall, with a four-foot wrought iron fence attached to the top. A ten-foot high steel gate guarded the entrance, razor-sharp barbs resting on the top. Though he could not see them, Marcus remembered Johnny telling him that there were also security cameras every twenty feet around the perimeter. One of the two guards approached Striker's Jeep and looked the vehicle over while the other stood back at a distance, covering his partner. Marcus smiled at the efficiency. Each was armed with an MP5, and seemed somewhat burly. Given the men's taught faces, Dietrich guessed their apparent girth was the result of body armor underneath their jackets.

"How's it going Ronnie?" the first guard asked as peered into the Jeep, shining a flashlight around the vehicle's interior.

"Fine," Striker replied. "This is Colonel Marcus Dietrich," he added, gesturing to his passenger. "We're expected."

"I know." The guard waved to his partner, and the second man opened the heavy, steel gate.

Striker drove through slowly, winding around a curve in the Compound and coming to a second gate. Marcus felt the second perimeter was a nice touch. The wall and fence were lower at the second perimeter, but Marcus knew from his conversations with his brother that it was electrified. Two more guards stood at the inner gate, and as before one approached the vehicle while the second one stayed back. No words were exchanged during the cursory evaluation of the vehicle, as the first gate had radioed the second, informing them of who was coming up. After a moment, the Jeep was waved through, and Striker proceeded up the drive to the front of the mansion. The building itself impressed Marcus more than the outer defenses did.

Marcus stepped lightly out of the Jeep, and was followed by Brad. As soon as the two were out of the vehicle, Ronnie started back out the way he had come in. He had his orders – he had to see if he could find Michelle Marlowe.

Dietrich scanned the rooftop, noting the gun turrets at the corners of the building. As he walked past the front window, he noted the manufacturer's name in the corner of the glass that marked it as bullet resistant material. The doors were heavy, iron bound oak, and another two guards stood outside. Each man was frisked, and all of Marcus' weapons were found. As he was a first-time visitor, he was deprived of his weapons, though they permitted Brad to carry the weapons for him. Once he had gone through the security process, Marcus had to nod his head in approval. Certainly, it was better than Siras' vulnerable home. He would need to make some changes when he returned to his sire.

Once inside, Marcus was led to Matt's study. He admired the artwork depicting famous battles and generals, and noted the antiques that Matt had gathered. He wondered where Matt had gotten the money to afford all of the luxuries and necessities that he had seen, but then remembered Yashida. Johnny had always been proud of his childe, and had probably gone out of his way to ensure that Matt would never be hurting for cash. As Marcus walked in the front door, he immediately saw the clan's primogen, and Matt's eyes went wide with disbelief.

"Marcus? What are you doing here?"

"The boss said things were bad," Marcus said with a grim smile. "He said I should come out here and clean up you mess."

Matt simply smiled in response, knowing that Marcus was kidding. At least, he had hoped it was a joke. From everything he had ever heard, Siras had always been happy with Matt's rule. "You're the only one?" Matt asked. Marcus nodded. Matt had hoped that Siras would send more than just one Telemon to help him out, though he had to admit that if he were to only get one, he could not have done any better.

"I can get some reinforcements if it turns out that we need them," Marcus said. "Brett and Daniel are on standby, but remember, they're hours away. In a pinch, it's just us."

"I know."

"I heard you had a meeting earlier," Marcus said, revealing his eagerness to get right down to business. If either man wanted to catch up on personal stories, they would have to wait until later.

"Had a meeting at Luna's first," Matt said. "He wants us to all hide out in the same place until we all know what's going on. Trouble is, no one could decide which place is best. Then I met with Patrick Collins, the Tremere primogen. He says his clan has identified a mystical threat, and wants our help once they have identified it. He'd also like the use of the Compound should his clan's efforts be discovered, and they're forced to flee. The terms of his agreement seemed reasonable, so I agreed."

"An alliance with the Tremere?" Marcus asked dubiously. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"No," Matt admitted. "But with the way things are going, I figured it would be nice to have someone else to turn to if we need help. With Magnus gone, we lose a great deal of our strength. With Johnny MIA, we're missing our eyes and ears. I didn't really have a choice."

"So my brother still hasn't checked in?"

"No," Matt replied. "With every passing hour, it seems more and more likely that he's dead." The statement made Matt as uncomfortable as he was sure it did Marcus, but he felt it was time to start facing the harsh reality that Johnny was probably not coming back this time.

"I guess that given the situation, you've done all you could," Marcus said. "Is there anything else?"

"The command of the clan is yours, if you want it," Matt said. "You are the ranking representative of the clan, and by rights you should be primogen."

"I appreciate the gesture," Marcus replied, "but the clan is yours. This is a time of troubles, and certainly not the right moment for a change in leadership. You know your men, and I do not. I wouldn't be able to use them as efficiently as you could. I will stand by to advise, as Johnny and Magnus always did. However, you are the primogen." He looked Matt over, and tried to decide whether his clanmate was relieved or troubled by the response. "You can't get out of the job that easily," Marcus joked, trying to ease the mood. He knew the kind of stress that Matt had to have been under recently. The last thing he wanted to do was to push the young Telemon until he broke. That would serve no one. Right now, they needed each man as sharp as he could be.

****

X

Michelle Marlowe threw open the door to her apartment and raced in, hoping to get to the phone before the caller hung up. She had been out all night searching for her friend, Johnny Yashida, but had not found any sign of him. She hoped that he was on the other end of the line, that she would finally know that he was safe.

"Hello?" The young Gangrel waited what seemed like minutes before a voice answered from the end, her anxiety distorting her sense of time.

"Hey 'chelle," a voice said from the other end of the line.

"Johnny!" Michelle screamed. "You're ok." A wave of satisfaction went through her as she patted herself on the back for having had one of the other Gangrel fix the phone line for her. She had hoped to find Johnny on her own, but knew that he would be proud of her for having taken the time to think things through. As soon as her initial feeling of relief had passed, however, she was struck with all of the irritation she had also been feeling as she wandered the city, searching endlessly for her friend. "Wait a second, I've been running all over this goddamn city trying to find you! Do you know how worried I've been? Where the hell are you?"

"I'm nowhere," Johnny answered, "and I'm sorry for having made you worry. It was the only way." A moment of silence followed before he continued. "God only knows if someone is listening. I need you to get out of the city."

"What?" the Gangrel asked, confused by the suddenness of her friend's request.

"You have to get out of San Francisco as soon as possible," Johnny said, his voice almost pleading. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all night. Where the hell have you been?"

"Out looking for you," Michelle answered. "Are you aware that most of the kindred in the city think you're dead?"

"Good," Johnny replied. "The longer they think that, the longer I'll probably be able to survive. If you want to live, you'll get out. Now."

"Why?"

"I don't have time to explain things to you," Johnny answered. "Besides, the more you know, the more danger you'll be in. Just trust me and get the hell out."

"Where are you?" Michelle asked. She had no intention of leaving the city again while Johnny played fast and free with his own life, just as he had done so many times before. She remembered the Sabbat siege, when he had sent her away while he continued to fight, seemingly in vain. She would not be discarded so easily this time.

"I already told you I can't tell you where I am."

"So you're going to hang around again and join your clan in some suicidal battle while you ship me off?" Michelle asked. "Sorry, but you're not getting away with that one. This time I'm staying."

"The hell you are," Johnny replied. "You'll just get yourself killed."

"Like you plan to?"

"I'm not planning on dying just yet," Johnny replied.

Michelle noticed the tone of his voice immediately. Johnny's voice was usually rather glib when he joked about life and death. While he had always known that he was the weakest of his clan, he had always had enough faith in his wits and luck to see him safely through any situation. He had never truly escaped the adolescent feelings of invulnerability that he had had at the time he was embraced. Michelle had always felt the same way, and it was this lack of fear that had been one of their greatest common bonds. That and a lack of respect for the laws of the mortals. Now, however, he sounded different. He was afraid. It was not the fear that one put in one's voice when it seemed like the right thing to do. He did not sound like he was stoically facing his end, as he had when the Sabbat had attacked. Even then, she knew, there had been a fiber of his being that had never even considered the possibility that he could die. That was no longer the case. She knew that Johnny had finally come across something that presented him with virtually no hope of survival. She could not imagine what it was.

"What are you going to do?" Michelle asked.

"I'm getting the hell out of here," Johnny replied. "There's no shame in running. Flee today, live to fight another day, and stuff like that."

"You're leaving?" Michelle asked. "Really?"

"I'm not even in the city right now," Johnny replied immediately. "I high-tailed it out of there last night. If you leave right now, you can get to a safe distance before the sun comes up."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to head back to Pennsylvania," Johnny answered. "I have to consult with Siras. After that, I don't know. I've even been considering going to ground."

Michelle gasped in response to his last statement. She had never heard of a kindred as young as Johnny going into hibernation. It was usually not until a few centuries had passed that one of their kind went to sleep for a time, so as to allow the world around to change and allow for more excitement when they awakened. "You can't be serious," she answered.

"Why not?" Johnny asked. "I haven't made the decision yet, but I might just do it. Of course, I'll need a little more time, and I'll need you to teach me how to meld into the earth, but once that's done, I might do it."

"Ok, I'll leave," Michelle agreed. She had doubted that things were as serious as Johnny had said, that he would really be leaving. When he had mentioned going to ground, he had put the fear of God in her. Now she would leave.

"Go to the airport," Johnny said. "There's a ticket waiting for you at the United desk. You'll be flying to Salt Lake City."

"What? That place is full of Mormons," Michelle complained. "I can't have any fun there. Why don't you send me to New Orleans?"

"It's too far east," Johnny answered, his tone slightly condescending. "If you stay in the air that long, the sun will come up. Salt Lake City is as far as you can safely go. Even then, if the flight's delayed, don't get on. Just drive as far as you can go. Take my credit card. The one I hid. I assume you've found it by now. You can go to a cash machine and take a cash advance. I also assume you remember the PIN."

"Yeah," Michelle admitted reluctantly. "So I get to take your credit card and get as much money as I want?"

"Don't push it," Johnny answered. "Now get going."

"Bye," Michelle said as she hung up the phone. She scanned the disheveled apartment for anything that she would want to bring, but decided against it. She did not have the time to go rooting through the piles of clothes and broken furniture.

She ran out the door, and down the stairs. In one smooth motion she hopped into the Miata that she had borrowed for the night. Unlike Johnny, who actually went to the trouble of hotwiring the cars that he stole, Michelle had a love of picking the pocket of someone and taking their keys. It made everything a lot easier. She peeled out of the parking space in front of her apartment, never even bothering to look back. If she had, she would have noticed Ronnie Striker pulling up in front of her building.

The Telemon went upstairs to her apartment, and immediately noticed that the door had not been locked. He walked in, his Glock held tightly in his right hand as he drew his survival knife in his left. He searched the apartment quickly. _Either she left here in a hurry, or someone came and took her away unwillingly,_ the Telemon concluded. He could not think of any other reason Michelle Marlowe would have left her apartment unlocked. Thieves were not known for being lax with their own security. Either way, Ronnie figured, Matt would probably not like it any more than he did himself.

****

XI

The apartment was long abandoned, the best residence in a building that no longer had any business standing. The lamp that stood on the old coffee table would have been the only source of light in the room, but it had been years since electricity ran through the building's wires. It was in front of the coffee table that Jenni sat, resting on the floor with her feet lying in a thin, half-congealed pool of blood. Around her flies buzzed incessantly, but she did not notice. The only sounds she could hear were the ones that came from the recesses of her own mind. A dozen voices spoke to hear, each one sounding curiously similar to the way it had in life. Jenni never understood why that was. After all, they were now all a part of her, and should have spoken with her voice. On the other hand, she was grateful at the individuality that they each still retained. It helped her keep track of things. It would have gotten confusing if she could hear Basil and his guards speaking with the same voice as Lillie, or Jana, or Shelly.

A smile came to her face as she considered Basil. He had always been so strong, so arrogant. Now he was little more than an echo of his former self, a shred of his consciousness having been absorbed by the child when she diablerized him. _Diablerie._ She thought about the word, saying it over and over. Even the sound of the word was wickedly pleasurable. When Jenni had been young, she had rejoiced in slaughter. She had been a sick, weak child, but that had changed after her embrace. As kindred, she was like a god. She remembered the long, lonely night she had laid awake, her body racking from a terrible cough. She had heard the 'doctors.' She knew she was going to die. Then a man had stolen into her home, and brought her over. He left as suddenly as he had appeared, and she had been overcome by the hunger. She had preyed upon her father, mother, and little sister. She had never dreamed that blood could taste so good. In the years since, Jenni had taken pleasure in killing. She enjoyed punishing her victims, her food. Then she had discovered diablerie, quite accidentally. One day she had continued to feed on her kindred prey, even after she had consumed all of his blood. She had felt a part of him be transferred into her. She had gained his knowledge, his skills, his loves and hates, successes and failures. Most of all, she had gathered his pain. The pain of having been destroyed by her. She decided she must have drained his soul. His pain had lingered with her for a few days, and every moment made her feel as if his soul was suffering that much more. Here was a thrill that she had never felt before. She could do so much more than simply torture and kill. She could now torture, kill, and torture some more.

Another smile crossed the young, innocent face as she heard a wail of agony from Lillie. The proud Toreador had struggled until the very end, and even now fought to regain her independence. _She will fail,_ Jenni knew. _Lillie was always lording herself over Julian, and through him, over me. She will be made to suffer most._ Jenni concentrated on Lillie, at the pain that the Toreador had felt during the last moments of life, and another scream tore through Jenni's mind.

The child had always heard of kindred going mad after diablerie. Some could simply never bear the strain that it placed on their psyche. They would struggle to retain their own identity with another personality awash within them. No kindred were ever truly the same after diablerie. A small piece of the victim always stayed with its slayer. For some, that small piece was too much. Not only were they never truly the same, they were never even themselves again. The small piece of the victim would overwhelm its murderer. For Jenni it was all so very different. For her, there was the pleasure of killing the same person twice. She would always subconsciously keep track of her victims, feel their life-force slowly drain from her, until not even she retained a piece of what they had been. Then they were truly dead. Until then, however, she would enjoy hearing them all suffer.

Suddenly, the voices all gathered together and cried out. "Yes!" Jenni screamed, enjoying the sound that she heard. It was as if a chorus of the dead had gathered to share its pain, with her as a private audience. She could imagine nothing more special, and it was all for her. The brutality and sheer cunning of Basil and his guards, the beauty of Lillie, the youth of Shelly, the will to live of several Nosferatu, and the passion of Jana. It was all there, all blended into a terrible concert of torment. It was then that another sound came to Jenni's mind. This one was from outside, in the real world. Her eyes flickered and opened, and she scanned the room. Then she heard the sound again.

A baby was crying in the next room, its voice muffled slightly by the heavy door that separated her from her guests. _They're hungry,_ she realized. Jenni slowly rose from the floor, disappointed that her enjoyment had been cut short. Soon she would have to sleep, and when she awoke, she knew that a few voices would not rise to greet the evening with her. Her chorus would lose members as the last remnants of some her less recent victims finally faded into oblivion. She would have to replace them. She would have to find others with strong voices.

__

To be continued........................


	3. Gehenna, Part 3

Spelling Television, Inc. (a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment group, Inc) owns the characters of Julian, Cameron, Daedalus, Lillie, Sasha, Cash, Eddie Fiori, Sonny, and any others from the Kindred: The Embraced TV show that I may have forgotten to mention. Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.

Other disclaimers are contained at the beginning of Part 1. If you really get off on reading disclaimers, then check it out there.

****

Gehenna, Part 3

by

Nevermore

CHAPTER 4

****

I

The phone rang, and Marcus immediately picked it up. He thought it funny that one of his status within the clan had been reduced to secretary for a couple of hours, but that was the way things had turned out. As soon as the sun had gone down, all of the current residents of the Compound had gone back to work installing a new security system that Matt had arranged to acquire as soon as he had heard about Magnus and Johnny. As Marcus had no experience with electronic security systems, he had volunteered to answer phones, thus freeing up other people for the work he did not understand. He had always left security systems to Yashida.

"Hello?"

"Who is this?" the caller asked immediately.

Marcus felt a chill as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "This is Marcus Dietrich," he replied.

"What the hell are you doing there?" the caller asked, his voice sounding both surprised and displeased.

"Siras sent me out," Marcus replied. "We were told you were probably dead."

"Not for lack of trying," Johnny muttered in response. "You shouldn't be there," he said after a moment of silence. "You should get the hell out. Now. All of you. Just pack up and get the hell out of Dodge."

"You know that's not an option," Marcus said to his brother. "Siras has ordered us to hold our position in the city at all costs."

"Disobey the order."

"I can't do that," Marcus replied. "What's going on, anyway?"

"I can't tell you that," Johnny responded flatly. "I'm damned for just seeing what I did. We're all damned. We're all gonna burn. You, me, Matt, Julian, all of us. Michelle won't. She's safe now. I was gonna be safe. Now you're there."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Marcus asked. He had never heard Johnny ramble before. His brother sounded confused and terrified. Dietrich could not begin to wonder what had rattled Yashida so much. He had always known the small Telemon to be fearless, despite the fact that he had no rational reason for being so.

"Ever since the Sabbat, I've known," Johnny said, his voice evening a bit. Marcus could sense his brother was regaining a modicum of control.

"What do you mean?" Marcus asked. "Is it the Sabbat? Are they the ones that killed Magnus?"

"No."

"What does the Sabbat have to do with this?"

"Nothing. They have to do with something else, but it's the same thing, only different, if that makes any sense."

"Not at all. What are you talking about?" Marcus asked again.

"When the Sabbat laid siege to San Francisco a while back," Johnny said. "That's when this all started. Actually, it probably started before then. That was just when I realized that something was going on. When Barry was killed, it was all wrong."

"Barry?" Marcus asked. At first he could not place the name, then he remembered a childe that Matt had taken a couple of years earlier. As a mortal, Barry had been a vigilante that fought a Sabbat vampire to a standstill with only his bare hands. Matt had liked the young man's fighting spirit and brought him into the clan. The childe had been killed when the Sabbat had raided the Compound. "What does Barry have to do with this?"

"The Sabbat didn't kill him," Johnny replied. "Things were just not right with the whole scene. I've been looking into it. She wasn't there, though. She was with Sasha. It couldn't have been her. I always thought there was someone else, but now I know it."

"Know what?" Marcus asked. He was getting extremely frustrated with his brother. He had the definite feeling that Johnny had come across valuable, perhaps even vital, information. Unless he could find out what it was, however, it was irrelevant what Yashida knew.

"You're a puppet," Johnny replied. "We're all puppets. Or we're cattle. Didn't you know? Everything they say is all true."

"Who? Who is 'they?' "

"I don't know," Johnny answered. "The same 'they' that everyone always talks about. One of them set up the bishop, and let us know about it," Johnny added. "I'll bet it was the same one that killed Barry. Then he let Luna know. I don't know why he helped us. Unless he wanted us to kill each other. That would explain Barry. Don't you see?"

"I don't have the faintest fucking clue what you're saying."

"That would be the one Jerrard was talking about," Johnny said, appearing to ignore all of Marcus' questions. "He wants to find the strongest of us. No one knows why, though."

At the mention of Jerrard, Marcus had finally calmed a bit. Jerrard was an old Nosferatu with whom Johnny apparently traded information on a regular basis. If Jerrard had been involved, then whatever information Johnny had probably dealt with something, or someone, slightly outdated.

"Basil and Rayce were both here at the same time, too," Johnny said. "Did you know that they were both over five hundred years old?"

"No."

"They were. Strange that two old kindred would both arrive here within a couple of years of each other, almost as if it had been planned."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I think it **was** planned," Johnny replied. "There are no coincidences. I don't think I believe in them anymore."

"Are you saying someone arranged for both of them to be in San Francisco at the same time?" Marcus asked, wondering who could have such influence over a couple of kindred that had spent so much time in the world.

"It's possible," Johnny replied, his voice taking another large step toward being controlled. "That would have put four of them in the city at once."

"Four what?" Marcus asked.

"Four elders," Johnny answered. "At least four of them."

"Elders?" Marcus asked dubiously. Like all kindred, Marcus Dietrich had heard tales about the elders of their kind, capable of wielding power over not only the younger kindred and mortals, but also over the very world in which they lived. According to the stories, they were beings akin to gods. Marcus had never believed such tall tales. All he trusted was what he saw, and he had never seen a man that was over two thousand years old and capable of exterminating a city by himself.

"Have you ever heard of Gehenna?" Johnny asked.

"Sure I have," Marcus replied. "Isn't that the end of the world or something?"

"It's the end of this cycle of history," Johnny replied. "I forget exactly how it goes. I think it's something like the first cycle was when Caine created his childer, the so-called second generation of the kindred. They got it into their heads that they should then have their own childer, so that they would have someone to rule over. Caine disapproved of his progeny creating more of their kind, so he killed his own childer. That was the end of the first cycle. Then the third generation created childer of their own, and they developed into the clans that we know now. The younger generations disliked the control of the third generation, and so they rose up against them. I think that was the end of the second cycle. Maybe not. I was never clear on all of this, to tell the truth. Even Jerrard was a little fuzzy on the details. Anyway, I think that we're in the third cycle right now. Legend has it that eventually, the elders will rise up again and destroy all of the younger generations, namely us, and start all over again."

"That's just a story," Marcus replied. "I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you. Stop listening to scary children's stories, Johnny."

"What if they're not just stories? You haven't seen what I've seen."

"What have you seen?" Marcus asked immediately, seizing the opportunity to return to his original line of questioning. He desperately wanted information about what had happened at Fort Point.

"I've seen more than I ever would have wanted to," Johnny replied cryptically. "I would tell you, believe me I would, but it's better you not know."

"Why?" Marcus asked, not bothering to hide his offense. He felt as if Johnny was trying to protect him, and he was confident that the last thing he needed from his smaller, older brother was protection. It had always been the other way around – Johnny had gone to Marcus when he needed someone to help him out of a jam.

"Some knowledge is so secretive that people will kill to cover it up," Johnny replied. "With your background, you of all people should understand that. Just trust me, it's best if you leave."

"I was ordered to stay," Marcus said again, needlessly reminding Johnny of his commitment to his duty.

"You have only received those orders because Siras does not understand the situation," Johnny replied. "This is a battle that you simply cannot win. You're the expert strategist. Do I have to remind you that the first rule of war is to not fight a battle you can't win?"

"You haven't given me any hard facts that I could base that kind of a decision on," Marcus replied. "Unless you can prove to me I can't win, I have to fight."

"The only way to prove it is to show you, and by then it would be too late to decide to leave," Johnny said, his voice sounding almost sad. "If I can't convince you to leave, then you will almost certainly die."

"You can't really believe that," Marcus said. The only response he received was a click at the other end of the line as Johnny Yashida hung up.

****

II

Tristan descended the stairs into the Haven and smiled as soon as he saw the Schacter brothers. They were seated at a table in the middle of the room, allowing themselves to be surrounded by their chosen enemies. The Irish mage was always amused at the arrogance that his German counterparts possessed. The twins were a study in contrasts, appearing no more alike than any two random people on the street. Each one possessed a strength, though for each man it was something different.

Kiefer was the older brother, born eight minutes before Heinrich. He was a fairly tall man, a shade over six feet, with a very wiry build. His brown hair fell over his shoulders in careless curls, and his brown eyes seemed to always be deep in thought. Perhaps they were, Tristan mused. Kiefer belonged to the Order of Hermes, a collection of mages that still performed the rituals that many mundanes associated with the wizards of the greatest works of fiction. While Kiefer appeared fairly harmless sitting in his chair next to his larger brother, Tristan knew better. Those that belonged to the Order of Hermes were masters of forces, a sphere of magic that could be used to more devastating effect than perhaps any other. In battle, Kiefer was a terrible sight to behold. His strength lay in his magic.

Heinrich was far larger than his twin, his strength lying almost as much in his physical power as in his mystical abilities. Heinrich was only a couple of inches taller than Kiefer, standing 6'4", but he weighed just under 230 pounds, most of his weight consisting of muscle that had been built up in countless hours of weight training. His neatly trimmed blonde hair completed a cold appearance that started at his eyes, which were an icy blue. While Heinrich was also a master of the arcane, he was Euthanatos, a student of entropy. The effects that he created were often far subtler than his brother's. While Kiefer could walk into a building and destroy his enemies with fireballs and bolts of lightning from his hands, Heinrich would use tactics that would seem to be the result of pure chance. One of the basic tenets of entropy is that everything is decaying. Heinrich would simply alter the rate of decay in a building's beam to have it fall on an opponent's head, or have a nearby furnace burst an old pipe and incinerate an enemy in a jet of flame.

The one thing the brothers had in common, however, was their wardrobe. Both dressed entirely in black. Black pants and button-down shirts, black boots, and black trenchcoats. Heinrich departed from his brother in wearing a black fedora and carrying a black cane, but these were the only deviation from the overall fashion scheme.

Tristan looked over toward the bar, and immediately caught the longing gaze Chelsea was directing toward him. The mage smiled thinly at the Toreador, and descended the final stairs onto the floor of the Haven. "Good to see you both again," Tristan said as he sat down at the twins' table.

"Likewise," Heinrich replied. Kiefer simply nodded in response. The smaller brother had never been one for many words.

"Something in this city is very wrong, I don't think we should move just yet," Tristan stated matter-of-factly, knowing that the Schacters were only interested in what he had been able to discover during the past few days. This was certainly not to be considered a social meeting. Tristan had no desire to get to know the brothers, and they did not seem to disagree with that sentiment. Their relationship was purely professional. None of them saw the use in forming friendships while they partook in an activity as dangerous as hunting kindred. It was likely that at least one of them would die someday, and none of them had interest in losing a friend.

"From what little I have seen, I would have to disagree," Heinrich commented. "I have seen nothing but disorder and weakness. What have you learned that makes you see things differently?"

"I was only able to locate two of the contacts you directed me toward," Tristan replied. "Hugh and Sasha were easy enough to find, but this Johnny Yashida you mentioned was nowhere to be found."

"It is no matter," Heinrich responded evenly. "I doubt he had any information that the others could not also provide."

"From what I've been able to find out, it seems the city is rapidly approaching the level of utter chaos," Tristan said. A smile instantly came to Heinrich's face. "Basil Romanov, the recently proclaimed prince of Oakland, was just killed, along with all of his bodyguards. I found no evidence of who had attacked them. The bartender, Chelsea, has also informed me that Lillie Langtree, the Toreador primogen, was just killed in Julian Luna's own home. Some of the Toreador believe the story that someone broke in and killed her. Others think that Luna was behind it, in return for an apparent connection Lillie had with the Sabbat. The facts are still a little unclear on that."

"So is there any chance of the Toreador attacking the prince?" Heinrich asked.

"That's an interesting question," Tristan answered. "See, the thing is, the Toreador are currently responsible for the prince's security. They could either attack Luna themselves, or simply allow someone else to gain access to him. It's an opening we may wish to exploit." Both brothers nodded in agreement. For a brief moment, Tristan was struck with the absurdity of carrying on this conversation in the one location where it was safe to say there would be several kindred. It was very possible they could be overheard. The brothers would not have wanted it any other way, though. They liked to give their prey some chance, no matter how slight, to at least get an idea that death was coming for them. Neither one felt threatened by the kindred. For them, this was little more than sport.

"Do you think Luna was behind it?" Heinrich asked.

"No," Tristan replied without a moment's hesitation. "Hugh said that Luna has already been to see him, asking what the mages know about what's going on. Hugh is convinced that someone else is in town hunting down the kindred. I checked with my usual sources, and no hunter that anyone knows of is anywhere within a hundred miles of the Bay Area. If it's a hunter, it's someone we don't know about."

"I don't like mysteries," Kiefer muttered, surprising both of his comrades as he spoke.

"Neither do I," Tristan agreed. "I think we should keep looking into things before we launch our attack. In our line of work, what you don't know can kill you."

"I don't think it's all that dire a situation," Heinrich replied. "I was here a few years ago and had my way with these kindred. I do not see this terrible danger that you both seem to think is here. They are vulnerable right now. If we wait, the opportunity may be lost."

"Be that as it may, I'm still not comfortable," Tristan said. "However, maybe you're right. There are still a few things to consider, though. First and foremost is the behavior of the Tremere."

"I do not see anything about the warlocks that could be of value," Heinrich said. As with virtually all mages, Heinrich possessed an intense distrust, perhaps even hatred, for the magic users of the kindred world. Their power was something utterly alien to the mortal mages.

"I think they've been looking to form an alliance with the young Telemon clan," Tristan replied. This brought a look of obvious interest from both brothers. "It appears as if two high-ranking members of each clan got together the other night. Both were killed. I heard another rumor that someone may have witnessed the killings, but I have not found whoever it was. One version I heard is that a Telemon saw the whole thing, and has gone missing. I would assume that would be Yashida. Perhaps he knows something of value, after all."

"Perhaps," Heinrich said flatly, making it all too obvious that he was rather unimpressed.

Tristan could understand his colleague's doubt. Neither of the Germans had ever faced a truly great threat. Sure, both of them had battled kindred, garou, and other mages, but none of their opponents had been of a level of power that had ever put either brother at risk. Kiefer was cautious by nature, and so he would consider the situation far more carefully than Heinrich would. The younger twin, however, would never accept the possibility that he could be outdone until it had happened. By then it would be too late. Tristan was reminded of a story from Heinrich's first visit to the city, when he had dropped in unannounced on a pack of garou that were licking their wounds in a hotel room. His carelessness had almost cost him his life that day. _What lesson did he take from that experience?_ Tristan asked himself incredulously. _Never meet alone with a pack of garou._ That had been all. No thoughts about possibly being more careful in general. He had never even considered bringing back-up to potentially dangerous meetings. _It would have been better if the garou had given him a deep scar that day to remind him of his folly._ In sudden response to that thought, Tristan's hand unconsciously moved to his side, to where so many years ago the Irishman had been given the scar that signified the lesson that had thus far eluded Heinrich.

"The mortals are also at it," Tristan said. "A gang war has erupted since Luna has withdrawn from view a bit. The humans think they can start controlling their own destinies."

"It's about time," Heinrich commented. "Is the Gambioni family involved?"

"It's funny you should ask," Tristan replied. "It actually looks like the Gambionis are the ones that incited the whole thing. I have certain suspicions about them."

"If you suspect that the family is populated by garou, you're right," Heinrich said.

"How did you know?" Tristan asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"One of the Gambioni enforcers was a member of the werewolf pack I dealt with last time I was here."

"Did you leave a good impression?" Tristan asked. "If we offer to help them, we might be able to get some help in return."

"Perhaps," Heinrich answered, beginning to tap the tips of his fingers together. "I might be able to direct you toward a few key people in order to set up a meeting."

"I don't like this," Kiefer said, startling his two allies by speaking for a second time in the same conversation. It was almost unheard of for him to be so vocal. "You can't trust the garou."

"Our enemy is the kindred," Heinrich replied. "We share this enemy with the garou."

"I'm glad that your initial contact with garou went as well as it did," Kiefer said after a moment's thought. "However, you should never think that the garou are our allies. We are all mortals, unlike the vampires that we war against, but their goals will not always coincide with ours. Don't forget that while we hunt kindred, other mages hunt the garou. The Gambionis would be foolish to trust us very far. The negotiations would be very risky, and would have to be handled with extreme subtlety and care."

"I can do that," Tristan said. "I've dealt with garou several times before. As this family lives in the city, I would expect that they come from the Glass Walker tribe. I've never really worked with them before, but I have fought beside several garou from the Fianna tribe. There are differences between the two, to be sure, but I have the best chance of being able to talk to them."

"You're elected," Heinrich said. The younger twin glanced at his brother, and saw Kiefer shrug in response. While the older brother would not oppose their decision any further, he was not at all convinced that their course of action was correct. "Go to L'Osteria del Forno. It's a restaurant that old man Gambioni himself owns. You can find someone there to talk to. Your magic should help guide you the rest of the way."

"It can't be all that tough," Tristan said with a grin. The Irishman immediately stood and began to walk toward the steps to leave. He gave one more quick glance to Chelsea, and shook his head in disappointment. Every time he looked at her, he was struck at her beauty. It was too bad she was not mortal.

****

III

During the years that Mario Cabrezzi had lived after his embrace, he had come to enjoy many aspects of life as one of the kindred. As a human, he had been a librarian and avid reader. Now he would have centuries to read all of the classics. Time would now not slowly hunt him down. Even more than the time that he gained, he enjoyed the fact that his body had never fatigued. At least, it had never fatigued until the crisis that he now faced. Since he had discovered a mystical presence within San Francisco, Mario had been ordered to first set up defenses for the chantry, and then to develop a new ritual that would allow his fellow Tremere to learn the nature and location of the threat. He had always loved reading and research, but now it was all he was allowed to do. Granted, if there had been no danger within the Bay Area, he still would have been spending his time in the basement, reading ancient tomes and trying to recreate forgotten rituals. However, the tasks had a different feel when he undertook them by command rather than choice. At least when Mario studied voluntarily, he could take a break when he felt he wanted one. Now he was tired. For the first time in decades, the warlock actually felt fatigued.

Mario looked over the page in front of him again, rereading the words and symbols for the third time. None of the writing was all that complicated, but Mario could no longer concentrate. His mind wanted to wander for a few brief moments, to seek any kind of stimuli other than what it had been faced with for hours upon hours, but there would be no rest for the weary. The warlock knew that a great deal rested on his success. He would have to do better. Mario stepped back from the desk where his book sat and rubbed his eyes. He raised his arms above him, stretched the aching muscles, and rubbed his back, which was stiff from having supported the standing vampire for every waking hour for the past few nights. _I was so sure the answer would be here,_ he thought, his morale dropping slightly, as it had with every other failure that he had experienced recently.

The warlock closed the book and opened the next one in the pile that had just arrived. The elders in Vienna had been extremely interested in what was going on, and had sent several of the clan's oldest tomes to help. In addition, they had arranged for Mario to use some of the mortals' modern technology to aid him in his studies. Every few hours, he could go online and trade questions and answers with several of his clanmates around the world. Even as he searched through old books, so too did many of the initiates in other chantries, all of them searching for the piece of information that could solve the puzzle. The entire clan was lending a hand in his research. While this made Mario somewhat pleased, as he knew that in such a situation many of the other Tremere would come to know of his name and expertise, he still wished that the circumstances were different. It could not be said that San Francisco was a terribly safe place.

The warlock noticed that the candle on the desk was burning low, and took another one out of the top drawer and lit it. While he had access to electricity, Mario also liked to keep a candle burning. It felt somewhat traditional to him. The faint glow of the flame flickering across the corner of the pages, brittle with their age, somehow made him feel closer to the mages and vampires that had originally written the texts. He felt less modern, and more in touch with his roots. He began to carefully turn through the pages, skimming each one to see if it contained anything that seemed promising. When he happened upon a word that was potentially of interest, he slowed down and read more carefully. He turned the pages again and again, then suddenly stopped. _What was that?_ he asked himself. As he had flipped the page, he had noticed a phrase at the bottom of the page he had turned. He turned back and looked at it again. _Heart of the City._ What was it about the words that struck him as familiar? He read more carefully. _The domain of a predator can take on some of the predator's own characteristics._ The words referred to kindred, he knew, but he had never heard of this aspect of a kindred's abilities. Or had he? As he pondered the question, he noticed the candle flicker slightly, as if someone had breathed on it.

Mario took a quick step back and looked around the room. He tried to convince himself that it had been a draft, but he knew full well that the basement had been carefully renovated to make sure that there were absolutely no drafts. A stray gust of wind, no matter how faint, could have unpredictable effects upon a ritual. He looked around the room again, scanning every shadow and piece of furniture, making certain that he was alone. After a moment he allowed himself to relax. _It was just my imagination,_ he repeated over and over. Mario looked at the book again, and convinced himself that he had simply become disconcerted by what he had read, just as a child that watched a scary movie before going to bed. _A child,_ he thought. _Is that what I've been reduced to, comparisons with children? Then again, how frightened would children be if they ever knew that many of their most frightening tales all had a basis in fact? How scared would their parents be?_

Mario calmed himself more and continued reading. He found that initially, strange moods within a city were considered by hunters to be proof that an evil spirit was present. _That's exactly what's going on here,_ Mario realized. He had to find out if it were possible to turn this power against its user. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could turn his fellow researchers in a more precise direction. He bent over the computer screen and brought up his email application. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the candle go out. He looked around the room in shock, but again saw no one. An instant later, the computer turned off. Certain he was not alone, Mario dashed toward the door to the basement, hoping that he could reach his clanmates and get help. He did not even make it more than a yard. As soon as his legs started moving, Mario was struck in the chest and doubled over in pain. He knew from the crack he had heard that several of his ribs had been caved in. He tried to call out for help, but could not. He guessed that his lungs had been punctured and collapsed. Without being able to breathe deeply, he would never be able to cry out for help. As he lay on the floor, he caught sight of a small foot circling the desk.

"Oh, this is interesting," he heard a girl's voice comment. "Heart of the city. I didn't know any of you younger generations still knew about this stuff. I was under the impression this was simply myth to you." Jenni smiled as she rounded the table and set her eyes upon the fallen Tremere. She picked up the book and tossed it into the brazier that stood a few feet from the desk. A moment later she tossed a lit match in and watched the dry, centuries-old pages catch fire immediately. "Well, enough of that," she said with a smile.

"Jenni?" Mario gasped, struggling to get to his feet. He tried desperately to heal the damage he assumed she had caused, but found himself unable to do much. It had been several nights since he had been able to feed, and without a constant intake of blood he had grown weak. Endless research had ground him down.

"Sometimes," Jenni answered. "I've been known by lots of other names, too. I would tell you a few of them, but what's the point? I'm just gonna kill you anyway." She punched the Tremere again, sending him back down to the floor. She kicked him a couple of times for good measure, and then began to look at his books once more. "So you're the one they had doing all the research, huh? I'm impressed. I didn't think that your blood magic would be much of a threat to me. Little did I know you'd be able to detect my presence, and the agitation it caused across the whole city." The child smiled, obviously pleased with the problems she had been causing since she had arrived. "Then you had to go and create defenses against my power. Let me tell you, that hurt."

"Forgive me if I'm not overly disappointed," Mario replied. He knew Jenni, and had never thought the child to be anything more than a mistake made by the Sabbat and left behind when they were defeated. Now he realized she was so much more. She had been the one to kill Magnus and Stephen. Obviously, she was an elder. No one else would have been able to get around the chantry's defenses and make their way into the basement without being detected. Mario believed the child when she said she would kill him. If his life was forfeit, he would try to anger her. He hoped that this would either stall her, as she decided to kill him slowly, or anger her enough to make a lot of noise when she finished him off. Either way, the chances of his clanmates realizing that there was an intruder would be increased. "Killing me won't change any of that, you know. I showed everyone in my clan how to defend themselves against your magic. That trick of yours is useless."

"Hardly," Jenni replied. "Your pitiful blood magic is no match for my abilities. You have no idea what I am, or how powerful I am. Your feeble skills cannot compare to the experience of millennia."

Mario's eyes widened in horror as he listened to her speak. _Millennia? She's more powerful than I had thought. She could wipe us all out. I have to do something._ Mario searched around the room for anything that he could use as a weapon. He found nothing.

Jenni saw his searching gaze, and decided that she had had enough fun with her victim. Every moment that she gave Mario offered opportunity for him to do something unexpected. The building had been well guarded, with numerous magical traps. She was in no mood to find out what else the Tremere had available to them. In one fluid motion she grew her hands out into claws and ripped into Mario's chest, withdrawing his heart and crushing it in her viselike grip. She looked at the body and wondered what she would have been able to learn if she had diablerized the thaumaturgist. He was apparently a master of the blood magic. That was the very thing that had stopped her, however. She knew all too well that the Tremere could use their thaumaturgy to poison their blood for anyone that drank it. Even the bodies of the Tremere were guarded magically. She would not fall prey to their tricks.

Jenni then walked over to a corner and broke the lock off of a large steel chest. Inside she found exactly what she had expected. Several types of incendiary materials were necessary in the Tremere rituals, and they would have been expected to keep them all in a safe place, somewhere they would not pose a large risk of causing a large fire. As long as they were all kept in the chest, that is. Jenni pored over the materials, deciding what would serve her purposes best. It did not take long for her to make up her mind. She grabbed two metal containers, one with gasoline and the other with kerosene. She disconnected the basement fire alarm, broke open a few of the painted-over windows, spilled the gasoline all over the furniture in the basement, and then dropped a lit match onto the floor. The flames erupted immediately, and the blast of heat that assaulted Jenni's face almost sent her into the Rötschreck. She fought off the madness that all kindred experience when faced with fire, and closed the wooden door behind her. She opened the can of kerosene and began to spill it behind her as she walked through the chantry. She knew that she would be invisible if any of the Tremere encountered her, but none of them did. They were apparently all staying in their rooms, conducting research of their own.

The child grinned malevolently as she considered what would happen. When the door of the basement was finally burned through, the flames would burst out and immediately ignite the kerosene. Within moments, every hallway in the building would be ablaze. The Tremere would all be terrified with fear, a result of the Rötschreck. They would burn alive. Even if any escaped, they would lose all of their research and items in the fire. They would no longer be a significant threat.

Once Jenni had finished pouring the kerosene around the building, she simply opened the front door and walked out. As she did so, several magical alarms were tripped in the room of each of the warlocks. Patrick was the first one to respond, racing down the stairs from his office, followed by his living gargoyle hound. The stone beast was the best guardian the Tremere primogen could have ever hoped for. It never slept, ate, or tired, and was fanatically loyal. As Patrick reached the building's entrance, the door to the basement finally gave out. It was blown out by the force of the dying blaze in the basement, which was reinvigorated by the oxygen in the upper levels of the chantry. The flames spread quickly, following the line if kerosene through the halls. Patrick saw what was happening and knocked the front door off of its hinges as he dove out of the building, his primal terror leading him to simply race away as fast as he could, without regard for his clansmen.

Once he was across the street, Patrick recovered his wits. He kept his back to his home, knowing he would be overcome with panic again if he saw the flames. As it was, the heat from the inferno was almost reducing him to a quivering heap of flesh.

"Go get the others out, Ming," Patrick instructed his hound, hoping that he acted in time. He turned the corner, and stole occasional glances at the building, hoping to catch sight of any of his clanmates. After a minute of waiting, he saw Adam Stewart walk from the front door, as if nothing were amiss. _He's even worse than I had ever thought,_ Patrick thought, referring to the pyromania that several of the Tremere had felt afflicted their clanmate. Watching the kindred walk from the front door of a burning building without even batting an eyelash, Patrick was convinced that Adam was completely insane. He would have to deal with that later, though.

A few seconds after Adam walked out, Patrick could hear the frantic screams of other Tremere. They were caught in the fire, and could not think to act. Apparently, even his ghouls had been overcome by terror_. Either that, or the smoke got them_, the primogen thought as he focused on the think smoke billowing out from the windows. The ghouls were mortal, and had been asleep. They had probably never awakened, having been overcome by the fumes as they rested. Just as Patrick was about to give up hope and walk off with Adam, he caught sight of a form on the roof. He immediately recognized Philip Hoi, even through the smoke and over the distance. The Tremere looked on the verge of a breakdown, running helter-skelter from one edge of the roof to the other. Then, just as the flames were reaching onto the roof, Hoi jumped, his body thudding sickly on the pavement below. What would have killed a mortal was simply a mass of injuries to be healed for a kindred. Patrick gestured to Adam, and the younger Tremere ran over near the blaze and gathered up Philip Hoi. He would need a little bit of time to recover, but he would certainly live. As Patrick led his two surviving clanmates away, he realized that living was something that had become too great a burden. Part of him actually wished, for a brief moment, that he had not made it out of the building.

"So what are we going to do now?" Adam asked as he lumbered off down the street.

"I will call Matt Reimer," Patrick replied. "We made an agreement with the Telemon, and it's time they paid up."

****

IV

Tristan Reilly leaned back in his chair, knowing that he was as safe as human being could ever possibly be. True, he was sitting in the middle of the Plump Jack Cafe, a restaurant owned by a family of garou, but sitting on either side of him was one of the Schacter brothers. The Irish mage could think of little that could ever threaten three master wizards.

Tristan's imagination was helped along, however, when he saw Vincenzo Gambioni walk slowly through the door. The man was powerful, even though he was certainly over sixty years old. The mage knew that Gambioni was of a tribe of werewolves called the Glasswalkers, those lupines that had deserted their heritage within the wild in favor of the comfort and style of metropolitan life. To many others of their kind, the Glasswalkers were outsiders, at best distrusted and seen as weak, at worst outwardly reviled and accused of falling in with demons. Vincenzo Gambioni, however, had a proud bearing that rivaled that of the Get of Fenris, a mighty, wild clan that had provided the vast majority of great garou heroes. Tristan's earlier feelings of invulnerability paled somewhat as he looked upon the head of the Gambioni crime family. Vincenzo was not capable of bending reality to his will as a mage could, but he had "it," that special, undefinable attribute that leads others to perceive greatness within an individual.

Any considerations of Vincenzo Gambioni halted suddenly, however, as his bodyguard, Kristen Genetti, walked into view. Tristan was immediately driven to distraction. In all the years that he had lived, and all of the women that he had been with, he had never beheld such an alluring figure. Kristen stood 5'10", and had an athletic, faintly muscular figure. Her long, curly brown hair hung carelessly down past her shoulders and partially covered her dark, sharply featured face, giving her a somewhat wild appearance. The woman's clothing only served to draw even more attention. The most prominent article of clothing was the long, black trenchcoat that Tristan assumed was to provide effective concealment of weapons. Despite such practical purposes, however, the coat allowed a partially obstructed, teasing view of the clothes Kristen wore beneath. Tristan allowed himself a moment's indulgence to soak in the woman's appearance, beginning with her black, thigh-high leather boots, and moving up to a sleek black mini-skirt. Her chest was barely covered by a sheer, slightly see-through white cut-off shirt. Only a moment after Tristan realized that Kristen was not wearing a bra, his eyes were drawn to her tight, well-defined abdomen.

Not wanting to be caught staring, the mage looked quickly to the woman's eyes, hoping to hide his attraction to her. Apparently, he realized, he had acted too late. By the time his eyes met hers, she was already looking right at him, a thin, seductive smile spreading across her full, red lips. The eyes, Tristan noted, were most likely the most enthralling part of the enrapturing woman. Dark green, they appeared almost feline, the last quality he would expect from someone he assumed was part wolf. He happily noticed that Kristen seemed equally impressed with his appearance, a feeling she expressed by slowly licking her lips. Just as Tristan was about to wink, however, he was struck by the disconcerting thought that the woman's action might not have been one of seduction, but one of preparing to feed. She was, after all, a werewolf. Tristan reminded himself that it would be wise to remember the nature of those with whom he was dealing. He diverted his gaze momentarily to watch the old man sit down at the table, and then looked right back at Kristen. This time, she winked at him. Feeling more secure in the nature of her appetite, the mage winked back, and tried to concentrate on business. There would be plenty of time for fun later.

"How are you tonight?" Kristen asked the mages, focusing primarily on Heinrich. "Your name is Schacter, right?"

"That is correct," Heinrich answered. "We met some time ago, when your pack moved to avenge the losses of your family."

"I remember," Kristen muttered in response, as if she had been reminded of something she had been trying to forget. "When Tristan's messenger came to me to set up a meeting, he said I had come personally recommended, but I had no idea you were back in town." She looked over the three mages, and then settled her gaze on the Irishman. "You're Tristan?" she asked, her voice almost seeming to purr.

"Aye," the mage answered, thickening his lilt slightly, hoping, as always, that it would serve to make him slightly more exotic. "I'm the one that sent Andy to meet you."

"And what is it you want from us?" Vincenzo asked, deciding to take part in the conversation. "I admit that I suspected the possibility of a trap, but Kristen apparently knows at least one of you, so I guess you're as trustworthy as any mage could ever possibly be."

"I'm flattered," Tristan said with a smile.

"First and foremost, Mr. Gambioni, we would like some wine," Heinrich said. "It has been a long day, and we are rather thirsty."

"Of course," the garou replied. "Any preference?"

"Nalle Gewürztraminer," Kiefer said evenly.

"A rather nice choice," Vincenzo said with a nod. He gave a slight flourish of his hand, and a minute later a waiter came in with a bottle of the wine.

Once the glasses had been filled and a sip taken, Kiefer let out a deep sigh and looked over each of the people at the table once again. "We are here because of the kindred," the mage said, reluctantly accepting that he had been left to deal with the early phase of the conversation. Heinrich had pointed out that he had already worked with one of the lupines, and that Tristan's messenger had met with them. Kiefer was the odd man out, and the other two mages felt that he should talk a bit to make the old man more comfortable. "I have a little vendetta against the Ventrue clan, and the prince of this city is one of their number. My brother here hunts all kindred, holding them to be abominations in the face of nature. I'm sure he has some mathematical way of explaining his views, but I will leave that to him to clarify."

"And the other one?" Vincenzo asked, gesturing to Tristan.

"I am an apprentice to these two," Reilly answered. "They have knowledge that I desire, and in return for their lessons I help them in their hunting. Besides, they also give me a nice bit of cash in an expense account. It's a nice lifestyle, and I certainly could never say that my life is boring." He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Kristen was smiling, and he allowed himself a brief flash of satisfaction. _Yes,_ he decided, _it is definitely on._

"Adventure? Excitement?" Heinrich asked. "I thought a Jedi craved not these things, Obi-wan."

"Give it a rest, boss man," Tristan replied smoothly.

"Then I ask again, what do you want from us?" Gambioni repeated, ignoring the exchange between the two mages. He did not wait long for an answer.

"An alliance," Heinrich replied, deciding to relieve his brother of the uncomfortable burden of speech. "As you know, I have worked with the garou of this area before. Your kind are stronger than I had ever been led to believe. It is our desire to wipe out the entire vampire population, and as powerful as we are, I doubt we could accomplish such a feat on our own."

"It is unlikely," Gambioni agreed. "What would be the terms of your alliance?"

"We know that you are getting in a war with the human mobs," Heinrich answered. "We can help end that for you. There are kindred within each of the families, and there are also the creatures that you refer to as fomori. These are formidable enemies. You will eventually need help as much as we do." The German stopped for a moment to wait for a response, but the Italian only nodded. Heinrich then continued. "There is something wrong with the kindred in the area. They are all dying out. I have some suspicions of my own, but perhaps you have some ideas as well. An information exchange would be welcome."

"So you need soldiers," Gambioni stated, attempting to sum up the situation.

"No," Heinrich replied. "No offense, but I would rather not do battle with berserk garou in the area. They may be wont to lose their senses and tear into even their allies. I need information. I need to know the identity of every kindred you are aware of in the city. I am sure you have kept track of such information. I also would like safe haven in the city at any time in the future after the war is over. I like knowing that there is always someplace I could fall back to if things go wrong."

"And in return for these trifles, you will help us make war against our enemies?" Gambioni asked. The old crimelord was certain that he had to be missing something. From his point of view, there was no down side to the deal. He would be risking none of his soldiers, and would only part with information that the mages would be able to gather on their own if they took the time. The only possible problem would be the guarantee of safe haven. He had no idea what kind of enemies a mage might bring into his city. Still, if San Francisco was to be his, he would certainly need help. With the mages on his side, he would be able to wipe out all of his human competition and take the fight directly to Luna and his supporters.

"I think you must agree that we are not asking all too much," Heinrich said.

"I think that's what has him worried," Tristan chimed in. "He wonders why we seem to be so generous."

"Ah, yes," Heinrich realized. "There is a mistaken presumption. While we request little, from our point of view what we ask for is not out of line with what we offer. We are vampire hunters, we are used to facing the strongest of enemies on a regular basis. We are offering to help you wipe out human enemies. To us, this is not a great challenge. So you see, in our eyes, the service and reward are proportional."

"Yes, I see," Vincenzo replied, continuing to turn the factors over and over in his head.

"We can give you some more time to consider our proposal if you would like," Tristan offered, hoping that the old man would accept his suggestion. That might mean another chance to meet with Kristen, just in case he should strike out on his first attempt.

"No, that is not necessary," Vincenzo replied. "I accept your terms. Our files will be made available to you at your earliest convenience. Kristen will arrange for their delivery."

"Will I be delivering to you?" the woman asked slyly, turning toward Tristan.

"I think that would be desirable," the Irishman replied. "Should we get going?"

"Please," she said, seeming to slide out of the chair and to her feet. Tristan also rose to leave, and Kristen took the mage's arm as the pair walked out.

"I hope there will not be any undue delay in the delivery of the information," Vincenzo said apologetically.

"It should be fine," Heinrich replied. At that moment his cell-phone rang, and the German looked down at his jacket in surprise. "What the -?" The mage pulled the phone from his pocket, wondering who would be calling him at a number he virtually never gave out. "Hello?" he asked. Gambioni watched the German's features crease over in confusion, and then brighten with a pleasant surprise. "I can meet you shortly," the mage said evenly, and then he folded up the phone.

"My apologies, Mr. Gambioni," Heinrich offered, "but I am afraid I have some urgent business. My brother has agreed to remain behind to help you with our end of the bargain. I trust that Tristan will also be working with you."

"That's what I would guess," the Italian replied, knowing that Kristen was probably planning to work very closely with the Irish mage. He had noticed their attraction to each other as much as either of the twins did.

Without another word Heinrich walked out of the restaurant, heading toward a meeting that he had given up on arranging. Finally, he hoped, he would get some answers. He just hoped that his information source was as accurate as it had been in the past. The German had held back some of his concerns about the situation of the kindred in the city. If things proved to be as he feared they were, it might prove impossible to actually achieve the goal of cleansing the city. Indeed, despite the bravado he constantly displayed, a small voice deep within him acknowledged that it might be impossible to escape with his life.

****

V

Thorne sat silently in the beaten up old leather chair in his warehouse. Too many kindred had died recently, and he had no idea how any of the deaths had occurred. There were no clues as to the identity of the killer. The old vampire closed the musty old book that he had been reading, and leaned over the side of the chair to the grab the next volume. He had not read from his old files in years, not since he had transferred most of his information to computer disk. Of course, not all of his files had been moved, but most had. He had not bothered to transfer data on kindred he knew or suspected were dead. He simply always planned that if one of them showed up, he would prepare a computer file at that time. Only once before had that been necessary.

Ten years earlier, a Toreador elder had come out of torpor and started searching for his old contacts. His inquiries had revealed his existence to the Sabbat, and the diablerizing sect had wasted no time in hunting down the elder and using his blood to strengthen their own ranks. Now, Thorne mused, he might have to once again find an old file.

He turned over the pages absently, hardly focusing on what he was reading. After a few minutes he realized that he had not even been paying attention to what he had been doing. The old vampire turned back about twenty pages, reminding himself to pay attention to the task at hand. The fact that he had been leafing through old pages for hours was no excuse for allowing his mind to wander. He began to look through the pages a second time, when he noticed that a spider was crawling across his boot. He watched the bug scurry quickly across the weathered black leather, all the while continuing to turn the pages without looking at what was on them.

"Are you even bothering to read any of that stuff?" a voice asked suddenly out of the silence.

"What?" Thorne asked, unable to hide the fact that he had been startled. He quickly regained his composure and turned to the man entering the room. It was K.T.

"You're just sitting there in a daze, turning pages while you're staring at your foot," K.T. commented as he walked closer.

"There was a spider," Thorne muttered, not even noticing how inane his excuse sounded. He was too busy wondering how he had allowed the Gangrel to get into the building and within range to attack. The old vampire had not made such a mental error in centuries.

"A spider?" K.T. asked incredulously. "Don't tell me that you're so hungry that arachnids are starting to look good to you," the Gangrel added with a smile. "If that's the case, I think I'll be leaving now."

"No, stay," Thorne said quickly. He had been losing focus, and wanted to keep the Gangrel around to help him stay alert. "Have there been any other incidents?" he asked.

"A few," K.T. replied. Only weeks earlier he would have almost lunged at Thorne with the news that the Tremere chantry had burned to its foundation. Now, however, the event seemed almost unexceptional. The Gangrel could not imagine what kind of momentous event would have to take place for him to get excited again. "Same as before, not a single clue to work with. You find anything?"

"Not yet," Thorne replied.

"You think you will, though?"

"I have been cataloguing kindred for over a thousand years," Thorne muttered. "Back in the day, they were a lot easier to keep track of, since there were so fewer of them. My records are rather complete. If this is a kindred, it would have to be an elder. If it's an elder, I have a file somewhere. It's just a matter of time."

"Well, you want me to look through some of those books for you?" the Gangrel asked. "It could help you save some time."

"Sure," Thorne replied, reaching over to grab the next book in the stack, throwing it to his one ally in the city. "Just remember that everything you read is confidential. If I ever hear that you went back to your associates and shared what you have read, or simply told them that you read anything at all, I will do something rather unpleasant to you."

"I know," K.T. replied. "I wouldn't say anything. You're too valuable an information resource for me to risk pissing you off like that, not to mention the fact that I'd rather not find out what you're like when you're mad."

Thorne nodded, and K.T. immediately started reading, impressed at the intricacy of the information. For every entry there was a lineage two generations back, as well as information about the abilities of each subject. To top it off, each kindred had been given a rating. This last piece of information interested the Gangrel more than anything else, so he turned back to the author of the files. Once again he noticed that Thorne was not paying attention to what he was reading as he turned the pages.

"What is it this time?" the Gangrel asked. "The spider get a friend?"

"What?"

"You're staring at the floor again," K.T. pointed out.

"Was I?"

"Can you tell me what you've been reading?"

"No," Thorne admitted. In an instant, the vampire's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. K.T. was certain that if it had been possible for the old vampire's alabaster skin to get any paler, it would have done so.

"What is it?" K.T. asked.

"I have paged through this section of the book several times," Thorne said. "Not once was I able to pay attention. Do you know what that means?"

"That you're ADD?" K.T. asked sarcastically.

"What?" Thorne asked.

"Nothing, just a joke," the Gangrel replied. "What does it mean, boss?"

"Each of these pages has one file on them," Thorne explained slowly "So each time I turn a page, I should be presented with two new names. You follow?"

"Yeah," K.T. answered.

"Each page is numbered," Thorne continued. "I want you to get a piece of paper," he instructed. "I will read out the number of each page that I read, and tell you what name is on the page. You will write down the contents of each page as I read it to you. Do you understand?"

"I understand the how, but not the why," K.T. responded.

"I just have a bad feeling," Thorne replied. "I heard of a power very long ago, and always wondered if it would be possible to defeat it. This is the only thing I can think of. Simply follow my instructions to the letter, do you understand?"

"Yes," K.T. grumbled. He hated being reduced to the role of a secretary, but for the time being he supposed that he had no choice.

"And never let me deviate from my own instructions. Don't worry, this experiment should not take long," Thorne assured him. The old vampire then began going through each page at a time, meticulously scanning the information. Suddenly, the Gangrel's voice interrupted him.

"What about page 34?" K.T. asked.

"What?" Thorne replied.

"You went from page 33 to page 35," K.T. explained. "What's on page 34?"

"Nothing of importance," Thorne answered.

"You wanted me to write down everything," K.T. said. "You'd better just tell me what's on the page."

"It is confidential information, something that you have no business knowing," Thorne answered.

"Look, you just got finished telling me about the life and times of Calliope, the favorite childe of Ventrue, and now you're telling me that the next page is too secretive for me?" the Gangrel asked incredulously. "That doesn't make too much sense. You told me not to let you deviate from your own instructions, so you might as well just read the page to me."

"Perhaps," Thorne said absently. He felt his mind swimming, but could not think of why it would do so. He strained to look at the page in front of him. In the back of his head, he heard a voice. _It is simply a page like any other,_ the voice said. _Read it. Read it! Now!_ Thorne shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at K.T., only to find the Gangrel staring at him. Then the old vampire looked at the page once again. The writing seemed blurry, as if the ink had gotten wet and run across the page. He saw a picture, written in charcoal, but which also appeared smudged.

_The entry is perfectly clear,_ the voice said to him once again. _You never allow your files to be damaged. Now focus!_ Thorne listened to the voice, and slowly the words and picture grew clearer. He gazed at the charcoal image, and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew immediately what had happened.

"In the name of Caine," Thorne muttered. "I had never thought it possible."

"What?" K.T. asked.

"I have heard rumors of a power that only the oldest and most powerful of our kind can ever learn," Thorne explained. "The practitioner of this ability is able to erase his very existence from the minds of all who ever knew him, or in this case, her," Thorne said. "To the perceptions of anyone, you simply cease to have ever been. It is the ultimate ability of concealment. Enemies forget what you have done to them. Friends cease to look for you. People who read written records tend to subconsciously overlook writing that speaks of you."

"That's impossible," K.T. countered. "What you're saying is that the kindred in question gets the power to affect the minds of everyone in the world, whether they lived before or after the power is employed."

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Thorne said evenly.

"Assuming such a thing is possible," K.T. said dubiously, "why is that important now? Are you saying this person is here?"

"Yes," Thorne said, turning the page toward K.T.

The Gangrel was unable to read any of the writing, as it was in a language he did not know, but the picture was unmistakable. "No way," he muttered.

"I'm afraid so," Thorne replied. "She's been here all this time, and no one knew."

"Wait a second, how come I can see the picture, but you appeared to have trouble?" K.T. asked.

"I assume it's because I pointed it out to you," Thorne replied, standing from his chair and carrying the volume over to his computer. "Maybe it's because you already know of her, having seen her so often recently. I'm not sure. Like I said, until a few minutes ago, I considered the power little more than a myth." He started to type quickly, entering all of the information on the page.

"What language is that in?" K.T. asked casually as Thorne continued to type. "It doesn't look like anything I've ever seen."

"It's Punic," Thorne replied. "It was the language of the Phoenicians, the people that founded Carthage. The reason you've never seen it is because most records of the Carthaginian Empire were wiped out when Rome razed the city." He quickly finished his entry, and waved for K.T. to come over. "Look at this," Thorne instructed, gesturing to the computer screen. The Gangrel's jaw dropped as he read.

Name: VidriaFile #: 00192

Clan: CaitiffLocation: last seen in Genoa

Embrace: pre-1000 B.C.Last Update: 1437

Sire: unknownFile #: 

Grandsire: CaineFile #: 00001

Displayed Disciplines: Obfuscate, Celerity, Protean, Potence, Fortitude, Presence, Auspex, Dominate, Daimoinon, Serpentis

Rating: 95.8

Notable Victories: as an Antediluvian, Vidria is beyond normal comparison. All victories are to be expected, and none would be considered notable.

Desired Confrontations: 

Tremere

Troile

Ventrue

"Good God almighty," K.T. said.

"She is an antediluvian," Thorne said, "a grandchilde of Caine himself. She is over three thousand years old. Her blood has aged to the point where mortal blood is no longer potent enough to sustain her."

"What?" K.T. asked. "I thought that was just a myth."

"No doubt that is what your associates would like you to believe," Thorne replied ruefully. "Take my word for it, it is no myth. Eventually, kindred get so old that they must feed upon others of their kind. It is the basis of the jihad. Not surprisingly, the younger generations do not like the idea that they are little more than cattle for the elders." Thorne shook his head, feeling a slight touch of sympathy for any elder that had such difficulties. He knew all too well what it felt like to be limited to only feeding on kindred. However, he knew that this kindred had never felt any remorse about this behavior. In fact, she had been a well-known diabolist even before she had been forced to feed upon other kindred.

"So Jenni has been behind all this killing," K.T. said. "I never even suspected her."

"No one ever does," Thorne replied. He saw K.T.'s curious stare, and decided to continue. The last record I have of her activities is during the Renaissance. She wiped out the entire kindred population of Genoa. She is probably the most territorial kindred I have ever seen. She stakes a claim to an area, and continues to feed until the food supply has been exhausted. Only then will she move on."

"So you're saying we're just part of her smorgasbord?" K.T. asked.

"I doubt that I am," Thorne replied, "I've kept my presence well hidden; but if I were you, I would expect to run into her eventually."

"Oh, great," the Gangrel muttered. "So now what do we do?"

"I'm going to talk to Luna," Thorne replied. "It may already be too late, though."

"You're going to Luna's?" K.T. asked. "I thought you always remained concealed."

"Jenni is incredibly powerful," Thorne explained, "and she needs to be stopped. Ordinarily, I would never interfere with a strong vampire, as her line might inherit her power. However, Jenni has never sired another. She lives only to inflict pain, torment, and death upon her enemies. That works against my goals. I cannot allow her to feast on the kindred of this city. I just wish I had learned of her a few months ago."

"Having more kindred would have been useful," K.T. agreed.

"It's more than simply the numbers," Thorne said. "Just a few months ago, Rayce was still in the city, and Basil was alive. They were powerful elders, and if I had them at my side, we might have stood at least a small chance of victory."

"You don't think we can win?" K.T. asked, unable to hide his surprise and fear.

"I cannot be certain that even I could defeat her in single combat," Thorne replied evenly. "If I had a little time to train a few of the kindred, it could probably be done, but time is not a luxury we have. Within a few weeks, there may be only a handful of us left."

"So why not just let her go?" K.T. asked. "We can always try again some other time."

"If I let her go, I run the risk of her disappearing to me once again," Thorne explained. "Besides, the kindred in this city are important. If my work means anything to me, I must make a stand, whatever the cost."

"So let's get going to Luna's," K.T. said with a forced smile. "I'm sure he's gonna love to hear this."

"I assume you cannot call in any help from your associates," Thorne stated as he picked up a hatchet and shotgun, concealing the weapons beneath the large, black cloak he threw over his shoulders.

"Don't even think about it," K.T. replied. "My associates have all those weird agendas of their own. There's no telling what position they would take on Jenni. For all we know, they could decide to support her and wipe out Luna's hold on the city. That would probably secure all of California under anarchs. Having anarchs on the West Coast, and Sabbat on the East Coast, with the Camarilla in the middle, my associates would be guaranteed of instability and chaos in the New World for decades to come. No, I think it's safest to do this on our own."

"Seems that way," Thorne agreed. "All alone against an elder," he commented to himself, "I swore to give this up back in 147 BC."

****

VI

Sasha knocked softly on the door to Jenni's apartment, hoping that her ward would be safe. It was hard to believe that several of the city's kindred, including Lillie, had actually been killed. If indeed there were hunters in San Francisco, as several kindred believed, Sasha knew that Jenni could be in danger. She had to get the child to return to Julian's mansion, where she would be safe.

"Who is it?" Jenni asked from behind the door.

Sasha relaxed immediately, grateful that her young friend was still in one piece. "It's Sasha. Let me in."

"Are you sure you want to come in?" Jenni asked. The tone of the child's voice immediately set Sasha ill at ease. There was a threatening, even menacing quality. It was something Sasha had never before heard from her friend.

"Sure I am," Sasha answered. A moment later, the Brujah heard a lock being unlatched, and then another, and another. Seven locks were undone before the door finally opened. "You think you have enough locks there?" Sasha asked with a smile as Jenni came into view. The child simply shrugged her shoulders in response, and stepped aside so her guardian could enter. As soon as the Brujah had walked in, Jenni set about locking the door behind her, taking care to remove the keys from the dead bolts as soon as each one was secured.

"I was worried about you, what with all of the kindred in the city getting whacked lately," Sasha said, explaining the purpose of her visit. Over the past couple of months, Jenni had begun to have a greater desire for independence and privacy. Sasha had realized that Jenni was simply at that age when children want to break away from authority. The Brujah had convinced Julian to let Jenni get an apartment on her own, but even Sasha never approved of the neighborhood that the child had chosen for her haven. Drug use and violence were commonplace events here. Jenni had made the convincing argument that the nature of her surroundings would help to conceal her feeding habits. She had also pointed out that as a kindred, she was really in little danger from mortals. Eventually both Julian and Sasha had agreed, and Jenni had become something of a recluse in her new home. She had made it clear that she did not want visitors. Sasha had only disregarded Jenni's request for privacy this night because of the more important concern for the child's safety.

"Yes," Jenni said, "I think I heard something about kindred dying all over the place. That's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Sasha asked, surprised by Jenni's apparently unconcerned attitude. "It's a lot more than just unfortunate. Someone's going out of their way to hunt us."

"Someone's going out of his way," Jenni corrected.

"What?" Sasha asked.

"Some_one_ is singular," Jenni explained. "_Their_ is a plural possessive. If you use _someone_ in a sentence, you should use either _his_ or _her_. _Their_ is not proper. Since the identity of the person in question is unknown to you, there is the assumption in proper English that the masculine pronoun be used, so you would choose _his_. So you should have said 'someone's going out of _his_ way to hunt us.' "

"Oh," Sasha responded, not entirely sure that she had understood a word of what Jenni had said.

"Really Sasha," Jenni chided, "I thought you would have at least picked up a modicum of correct grammar after living in your uncle's home for so long. He might be a huge stick in the mud, but at least he speaks well."

Sasha simply smiled, unsure of what to say next. She felt the need to make some conversation, as Jenni's demeanor was beginning to bear down heavily upon her. However, the last thing the Brujah wanted was another grammar lesson, and she doubted she could speak properly all through a conversation. She was about to make an attempt at small talk when a soft noise from the next room caught her attention.

"What was that?" the Brujah asked.

"What was what?" Jenni replied, forming a small, innocent smile on her lips.

"I heard something," Sasha said. "I think it came from the back room."

"Oh, I doubt it," Jenni answered. "What do you have, dog ears that you keep picking up on noises no one else hears? Or maybe it's all that loud music you listen to. Now you have tinnitus or something. The constant ringing in your ears has you jumping at nothing."

"There it is again," Sasha said, now certain that there was something in the back room. She began to move away from Jenni and toward the sound.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jenni cautioned. "There are some things that you are not meant to see."

"What?" Sasha asked. The conversational tone that Jenni's voice had taken since the Brujah had entered had shifted back to contain some of the menace that Sasha had heard before she had entered the apartment. "Are you hiding something from me Jenni?"

"I'm hiding lots of things," the child replied with a slightly sinister grin. "The better question is whether or not you actually want to know."

Sasha turned away from the child again and walked into the back room. Her eyes immediately focused on four teenage girls that were shackled to the wall, three of them with their heads hung over, giving every indication that they were dead. The fourth one looked up at Sasha with madness in her eyes, and immediately began to cry. As Sasha turned to confront Jenni, she noticed that the four girls were not the only unique feature in the room. There were also four cribs, each one appearing to hold an infant. The Brujah immediately walked to one of the cribs and looked inside, where she saw a baby asleep. She looked in another and found the same thing. In the third she saw what appeared to be a baby that was so young, it could not yet even cry. It was holding its hand in its mouth, a gesture that Sasha knew meant the infant was hungry.

"What is this?" Sasha asked, shocked at Jenni's behavior. "What have you done here?" Sasha lifted the baby from its crib, and began to look around for a bottle with which she could feed it.

"I wouldn't pick him up if I were you," Jenni suggested. "He's probably a little hungry."

"I know," Sasha replied. "Do you have a bottle or something."

"A bottle isn't what he's hungry for," Jenni replied with a thoroughly amused expression. "Sometimes you can be so stupid. Why don't you look more closely at your precious infant?"

Sasha looked down, and saw that the baby's mouth had opened slightly to expose two canines that had grown out of gums otherwise devoid of teeth. Sasha then looked at her ward in horror. "You embraced this baby?" she asked, immediately placing the infant back in its crib. "How could you do such a thing?"

"I need to eat, Sasha," Jenni replied casually. "The babies don't fight back as much as much as some other victims do."

"What are you talking about?" Sasha asked. She was unable to think straight. Never before had Sasha seen anything as twisted as what she was witnessing. One part of her wanted to run away, to try to never again think about what she had seen. Another part felt the need to confront her ward and prevent such a crime from ever happening again. Neither side of her inner conflict was able to gain an advantage over the other, and so she stood still for the moment, trying to get an explanation for Jenni's behavior, hoping that the child's words would help her mind make a decision as to how to react.

"It's very simple," Jenni said. "I go and kidnap a young teenage mother and her baby. No one really cares all that often. Then I embrace the baby, giving it just a slight amount of my blood. To keep the baby alive, I let it feed from its mother. The infant will usually last a week or so. After that the mother dies, and I end up drinking the child dry."

"You embrace them, and then diablerize them?" Sasha asked.

"Have you ever diablerized, Sasha?" Jenni asked evenly. Sasha simply shook her head in response. "See Sasha, the thing with diablerie is that you absorb a piece of your victim's consciousness when you drain him completely. Sometimes that's fun. It lets you enjoy the pain and fear that your victim was feeling when you killed him. Other times, however, it's a real pain in the ass. If I'm going out to fight, the last thing I need is the remnant of some confused kindred's psyche making me take extra time to act. When that happens I can make mistakes, like letting Yashida escape. If I had my wits about me that night, he'd be as dead as Magnus and the Tremere.

"With an infant, though, there's no extra mental baggage. The damned things can't think yet, and haven't formed any personality to speak of. The diablerie is consequence free. The only problem is keeping the baby alive, since it can't go out and feed on its own. That's why I also take the mother. It's amazing how willing a mother is to sacrifice her life for that of her child. I don't understand it at all. The girl lets the infant feed from her until she dies. Once the baby's food source is gone, it becomes expendable and I kill it anyway, despite any promises I may have made to its mother."

"You're a monster," Sasha said, taking a slow step toward the door.

Jenni noticed Sasha's subtle movement, and smiled slightly. "Yes, perhaps I am," she agreed. "But then again, I think I like being a monster." Sasha did not reply, but only shuffled her feet again in the direction of the doorway. "So you think you can make it out of here before I can stop you?" Jenni teased. "I think I'd really like to see you try."

Sasha immediately bolted toward the door, using her blood to increase her speed. She was past Jenni in a flash and reached the front door, only to be reminded that it had been securely locked. She pulled with all her might, but to no avail. In desperation, she sent blood flowing into her arms and legs, using it to increase her strength to superhuman levels. Still the door did not budge.

"I had the door reinforced," Jenni explained from behind her. "Believe me Sasha, you're not going anywhere."

Sasha looked around the small apartment, hoping to reach a window from which she could jump. As soon as the thought had come to her, though, she remembered that Jenni had made a point of bricking up her windows, ostensibly to keep humans out of her apartment while she slept. The only way in or out was through the door, and Sasha was unable to open it. She knew she would have to either talk Jenni into letting her go, or subdue the child so that she could take the keys from her.

"Give me some credit at least," Jenni said. "I know what you're thinking. Let me assure you that you cannot talk me into releasing you quite yet, and you stand absolutely no chance of overpowering me."

"Don't be so sure," Sasha shot back. In the back of her mind, she thanked herself for having had the wisdom to never let anyone know that Cash had taught her the Gangrel skill of protean, the ability to shape shift. While Sasha had come nowhere near mastering the art, she was at least capable of forming claws. If she could get close enough to Jenni, she was certain that she would be able to kill her. She just had to lull the child into a false sense of security. To do that, she had to keep her talking.

"Your overconfidence has always amused me," Jenni said softly. "The best thing is that it has rarely been you that has solved your problems and defeated your foes. You've usually had someone like Cash or Rayce around to pull your ass out of the fire. Yet you still have the gall to stand up to me. You are so completely foolish."

"Wait a second," Sasha said. "You're the one that killed Magnus and Jackson?" Sasha asked, finally processing the comments that Jenni had made a few moments earlier. The child nodded in reply. "And Lillie, too?" Again Jenni nodded. Sasha could not believe that her young ward could have gotten so strong so fast. There was only one possibility. "You weren't embraced when the Sabbat laid siege to the city, were you?"

"Figured that out already, did you?" Jenni asked sarcastically. The child walked slowly to a leather recliner in the corner and sat down, crossing her legs in front of her. Her relaxed demeanor seemed to calm Sasha somewhat, and the Brujah sat down on the floor in front of the door. "No Sasha, the Sabbat did not embrace me. In fact, I was made kindred long before the Sabbat even existed."

"What?"

"My real name is Vidria," the child explained. "I was embraced over three thousand years ago. Maybe it was even more than four thousand years ago. I'm really not sure. I've gone to ground a few times, and back in my day we didn't all keep very good track of time the way people do now. I could have easily lost a few centuries somewhere along the way."

"So why are you here?" Sasha asked.

"Why not?" Jenni answered with a cheery smile. "I need to feed upon kindred, and there were plenty of you here. That won't be the case for long, but I'll stay until the food runs out. Then I'll go somewhere else. I hear Portland is a nice city. Maybe I'll go there."

"So you'll just leave eventually?" Sasha asked.

"Pretty soon, actually," Vidria replied. "It's getting dull here. It was fun for awhile, making like I was an innocent and weak child, but that little game has lost its appeal. It meant having to be around you all the time, and I lost my tolerance for self-torture. You know, you really are an oblivious pain in the ass."

"What?" Sasha asked. "I took care of you. I protected you from Julian."

"First of all, I don't need to be protected from Julian," Jenni responded. "He's no threat to me. Secondly, it's a good thing I happen to be an elder, or your protection would probably have gotten me killed. First you take me into battle against the Sabbat. Any newly embraced kindred would have gotten whacked there. It did give me the chance to kill Cameron, though. I never did like him." Jenni stopped to enjoy the surprised look on Sasha's face, and then continued. "Yes Sasha, the Sabbat didn't kill Cameron. I did. I thought he was a real asshole. You had to obey him, and under the image that I had projected, I had to obey you. There was no way in hell I was going to allow myself to be subjected to that boor. So I drained him. His blood was as sour as I had expected it to be.

"Well anyway, after the Sabbat battle, how did you take care of me? Yes, that would have been in your little Brujah war. Robberies, gunfights, opposition to the prince and the Telemon. Once again, if I had actually been a childe, I would have died. I came close enough at one point as it was. Magnus had to come in and point a shotgun at my head. I'll bet the damned thing was loaded with phosphorous shells. Imagine, one as great as I being extinguished by one as base as he. Well, I got revenge on him for that. I killed him slowly.

"Through it all, I was subjected to you. Your grating personality almost made me long for the gunfire. You never stop whining, Sasha. 'Oh, Uncle Julian, I've pissed off the Tong, help me. Oh, Rayce, I feel left out, take care of me. Oh Cash, I've angered Rayce, protect me.' It never ends." Jenni looked at Sasha's shocked expression, and congratulated herself for evoking the desired response.

"Then there's your irresponsible behavior," Vidria continued. "Would it be so hard, just once, to not go out robbing liquor stores, to instead stay in and read a book? You do know how to read, don't you?"

"Of course," Sasha replied angrily.

"Ok," Jenni said with a grin. "I just wanted to make sure. You know, you're also weak, Sasha. Maybe that's your biggest fault. If you could defend yourself, you wouldn't always be going to people, whining for help. You wouldn't feel the need to overcompensate by irresponsibly breaking mortal laws, pissing off your uncle. You wouldn't have to run to Cash every time someone threatens to give you the beating that you so completely deserve."

"Leave Cash out of this," Sasha spat. "He's none of your concern."

"Oh, but he is," Jenni purred. "I think Cash is going to be mine. Yeah, I think I'm gonna make that Gangrel my personal bitch." No sooner had Jenni finished speaking than Sasha was on her feet with her .357 drawn, aimed directly at the child's heart. "You ignorant little whore," Jenni said evenly. "You think you can hurt me?"

A blur of motion shot across the room, stopping behind Sasha. Before the Brujah could even react, the Magnum had been ripped from her grasp, and she was lying on her back, looking up at Vidria standing over her. "Nice weapon," Jenni commented, turning the revolver over in her grasp.

"You're actually going to kill me?" Sasha asked incredulously. She could hardly believe, after everything she felt she had done for Jenni, that her friend would turn on her so viciously.

No," Jenni said soothingly. "I'm not going to kill you, Sasha. I could never kill you, not after all you've done for me. After all, you did go to your uncle and stop him from destroying me. That was nice of you. True, it was completely unnecessary, but it was appreciated nonetheless. No Sasha, you will not have to withstand the agony of being killed. You'll have the pleasure of getting to do it yourself."

"What?" Sasha asked, hardly able to form the word. She was in utter shock at Jenni's cruelty.

"Like I said, I can't kill you," Jenni said sweetly. "I'm just going to torture you. Endlessly. I think I'll actually enjoy it. Caine knows I've had to put up with enough of your shit for the past couple of years to make your suffering a just reward. See, the only way that you'll be able to stop the pain, Sasha, is to kill yourself. Like you said, I couldn't possibly be malicious enough to do it myself."

"No, don't," Sasha pleaded, bloody tears coming to her eyes as she began to fully appreciate her plight.

"You have to be the stupidest bitch I have ever seen," Vidria said. "I just got through berating you for being a weak, whining whore, and how do you respond? You start crying again. As if some knight in shining armor is going to care enough about you to save your ass. No, Sasha, it's just you, and me, and this," the child added as she withdrew a cigar cutter from her pocket. "I think we're going to start by making sure you can't run those grubby little fingers all over Cash's body, ever again."

"No," Sasha repeated, though she had ceased trying to wriggle away from her captor. The Brujah had already started to realize the hopelessness of her situation.

"Yes," Vidria replied. "First I killed that cycle slut Jana, and now I'm going to make you the most ugly, horrible thing on this earth to behold. Then Cash will be mine. At least for a little while, that is. Eventually I'll get bored and tie him to a tree in the middle of the woods. It'll be fun to see what gets him first – the garou, or the sun."

"You can't," Sasha whispered. "Not to Cash."

"You actually care, don't you?" Vidria asked, her voice sounding slightly sentimental. "You know, if you could only have expressed some of your genuine affection, he might never have left you. Too bad he'll never know, though. That's rather sad. Then again, you're probably both better off without each other."

"If you let me go, I'll leave the city forever," Sasha said. "You'll never have to see me again."

"Too late," Vidria snarled, her eyes beginning to glow. Sasha watched as the child's hands grew into claws. "I think I'm going to do something I've not had the chance to do for over a thousand years. This'll be fun." Vidria looked hungrily at Sasha's midsection, and then back at Sasha's face. "Well, I doubt it'll be much fun for you, but I'm certain to have a blast."

The child Stomped down on Sasha's leg with all her might, shattering the calf and eliciting a scream of agony from the Brujah. Vidria looked at Sasha for a moment, and then seemed to decide on a different plan as she dropped the cigar cutter, walked across the room, and opened a drawer in a cabinet. She then allowed her claws to settle back into human hands, and pulled out a long survival knife. "Now this," she said, "is surgical steel, diamond sharpened to get a razor-sharp edge. You probably won't even feel the pain for a few seconds, the cut will be so thin. When the skin starts to pull apart, though, you'll definitely know it."

Sasha's eyes went wide with fear as Vidria walked back and straddled the quickly recovering Brujah. Within seconds she had cut off Sasha's shirt and bra, exposing Sasha's soft, pale skin. "Too bad Cash was too dead to have appreciated these," Vidria commented as she began to caress Sasha's breasts. "Too bad you're too dead, too. I think I would have liked to give you a toss. Ever since I whacked Lillie and gained her knowledge of how to enjoy sex again, just like the mortals do, I've been wanting to try out a woman. It makes me feel sorta, I don't know... dirty or something. What do you think, Sasha?"

"I think I want you to let me go," the Brujah begged.

"Sorry, we're fresh out of that here," Vidria said evenly. In a flash she ran the knife between Sasha's breasts and down to her waist. 

As Vidria had promised, the Brujah did not initially feel that she had been cut open. The first sign was the thin line of blood, which quickly increased in volume, running from the wound and spreading across the plywood floor. Before Sasha could scream, Vidria had produced a roll of duct tape, seemingly from nowhere, and covered her mouth. Sasha tried to roll away, but found herself unable to move.

Vidria stood up and began to circle the Brujah, a pleased look on her face. "Are you ready yet, Sasha?" she asked. "You want to die?"

Sasha shook her head violently, her eyes beginning to glow in defiance. She grew her hands into claws and tried to lift her arm to slash at Jenni, only to find her arm would not obey her mind's commands. All she could think about was Cash. _I have to escape and warn Cash about Jenni,_ she thought. _Or Vidria. Or whatever it is that the child calls herself. Someone has to be told before the bitch can finish feeding upon the entire kindred population of San Francisco._ In that one moment Sasha realized what it was that Jenni had been saying about her. She finally understood that the universe was not meant to revolve around her, and that she should take responsibility for her actions. She also realized that she would never be able to share her epiphany with anyone. It was too late. She knew she would never leave Jenni's lair alive.

"Time for the fun part," Vidria said as she knelt over her victim again. She thrust the knife inside Sasha's torso and started to cut indiscriminately, occasionally pulling pieces of various organs from within Sasha's body. Sasha could only look down in horror. _I can't believe this doesn't really hurt,_ she thought. _I must be in shock or something._

Jenni kept watching the Brujah. While she was somewhat disappointed that Sasha appeared numb beyond the ability to feel the pain any longer, she took great pleasure in the faintly agonized look that passed over Sasha's eyes every time another piece of her insides were thrown to the floor.

"Ok, time to move you," Vidria said, dragging Sasha across the apartment, over to a closet. She opened the door, and Sasha saw a small guillotine inside. Vidria placed the Brujah's neck underneath the blade, which was already locked at the top of the device. She then took a string and placed it in Sasha's hand. "When you're ready to die Sasha, all you have to do is pull on the string. That'll stop the pain."

Sasha tried to smile, but could not. _You won't get me to kill myself, Jenni. You'll have to do your own dirty work. I no longer even feel the pain._

"Let me guess," Vidria said coldly. "You think that being in shock is enough to protect you from my torture. Guess again."

Sasha watched as Jenni pulled a bottle from the top of the closet and rained the contents down onto Sasha's feet, and ran a little up her legs. Then she poured a bit into the gaping wound of her chest. Sasha tried to smell the liquid, but could not. She knew that having her chest cavity opened had depressurized her lungs. She would no longer be able to breathe. _Assuming I even have any lungs left in me,_ she thought morbidly.

In a moment, her curiosity about the bottle's contents had been answered. Vidria lit a match and dropped it on Sasha's foot. In an instant, her clothes caught fire, the flames fueled by the gasoline that Vidria had spilled on her victim. In the next instant, Sasha's flesh began to blister, and then shriveled and peeled off of the bone. The pain returned in a flash, and Sasha began to wail in agony. She closed her eyes so that she would not have to view the terrifying flames, but that only seemed to increase the pain. She tried to wriggle her body free, to roll enough to put out the fire. The pain was unbearable.

"Don't forget the handy dandy string," Vidria said cheerfully. Those were the last words that Sasha ever heard. She had not forgotten the string. She fought as long as she could, but then gave up. As much as she still loved Cash, as much as she wanted to help him as he had helped her so many times, he would be on his own. He was beyond her aid.

Vidria cheered joyously as Sasha's hand jerked and the blade fell, severing her head from her body. The elder watched the Brujah's corpse burn, and smiled as the flames spread to the inside of the closet, around the door frame and into the living room. _I guess I'll have to leave now_, she thought. _Not that it matters. This home has served its purpose. After tonight, there won't be enough food left in the city to support me, anyway. I might as well let the building burn. It'll help to cover my tracks._

Without another word, Vidria left the building, the growing inferno casting the long shadow of a teenage girl over the street. As the flames grew, so did Vidria's silhouette, and the elder tried to think of new and creative ways she would deal with her next victim. The prince of the city would certainly deserve very individualized treatment.

****

VII

Masato Matsuoka and Joey Nguyen both allowed themselves to relax slightly inside the Ebisu Japanese restaurant. Each man had been allowed two personal guards, and several other enforcers guarded the building, both in back by the limousines, and in the front of the restaurant by the main entrance. Nguyen had never been in Ebisu, as it was a business operated by the Ibe Yakuza clan – Matsuoka's crime family. However, the Tong leader had to admit that there was an element of class about the place. The two men were in a private Japanese-style shoji-screened dining room with tatami mats, which gave the comfortable feeling that they were as far away from San Francisco as possible. Here, they would be able to speak freely about how to deal not only with Julian Luna, but also the Italian crime families that threatened their businesses.

"I assume you'll want to get the meal out of the way before we talk business," Joey commented to the older boss. He was well aware of Matsuoka's custom of never discussing important affairs while he ate.

"Correct as usual," Matsuoka confirmed. "Please enjoy my hospitality for the time being. There will be plenty of time later to talk of fighting this war."

"If you say so," Nguyen replied. "I just don't like being out in the open, no matter how many precautions we've taken. It's risky to come out of my mansion."

"Trust me," Matsuoka assured his younger colleague. "We are as safe here as we could possibly be anywhere else."

Outside the restaurant, a shadow seemed to melt away from the wall, barely noticeable in the dim light of the alley. None of the guards standing around the two limousines saw or heard a thing until it was too late.

In flash of silver, a katana was drawn and took off the heads of two Asian enforcers before any of the others even knew they were not alone. Another went to draw a pistol, only to be riddles with bullets from a silenced H&K MP5. Kristen Genetti methodically worked her way through the remaining five guards, none of them a match for her years of intensive training and combat experience. She realized, however, that she was one body short of the nine men she was supposed to dispose of outside the restaurant, the guards that formed the outer rim of the Asians' defenses. She scanned the area quickly, hoping that the last man had not gotten away. She closed her eyes and focused her senses, utilizing her abilities as a garou to hear and smell with the acuity of a wolf, rather than as a human being. Immediately she heard the muffled breathing of a man inside Nguyen's limousine, and heard that the man was picking up a car-phone. The Italian assassin knew that her job would become far more difficult, perhaps even impossible, if the call were completed. The bosses would know that she had come for them, and her grandfather's scheme would be in jeopardy.

The assassin fired a burst at the limousine, only to have the rounds ricochet, revealing the armor plating that she had feared was on the vehicle. _You're supposed to be here to help me,_ she thought, trying to project her mind outward. She had no idea if she was using her mind the way she was supposed to, or if she even had to focus at all on sending the thought. All she knew was that Tristan had told her to communicate with her thoughts. She had wanted to use a radio receiver, as she always did. The mage, of course, insisted on using his mystical abilities. He had assured her that telepathy was a far more efficient means of communication.

_Are you even here?_ she questioned. _I need a way into the limousine._

She heard no response in her mind, but caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, leveling her weapon at the possible threat, only to refrain at the last instant from firing. Tristan had arrived concealed almost completely beneath a charcoal gray cloak. _Leave this to me,_ she heard in her head. _Continue on inside. I'll be right behind you._

Curious, she thought. _Even when I hear him telepathically, he still has that Irish lilt._ As she turned to leave, she heard what sounded like the crack of a whip, and a dull, indigo light suddenly illuminated the alley. The assassin turned, only to see Tristan slicing through the limousine's armored body with what appeared to be a lightsaber. The man inside screamed as he saw Tristan staring at him with iridescent, indigo eyes, but Kristen decided not to wait and watch the end of the short confrontation. She took Tristan's advice and ran down the alley and toward the front of the building, knowing that speed was crucial in completing her appointed task. She would enter as any other patron would, and make her way toward the bosses as swiftly as possible, hoping that they would not have time to figure out that she was not simply another late-night diner.

By the time she had reached the front door, Kristen had leveled out her breathing and concealed her weapons once again beneath her white raincoat. As she rounded the corner onto 9th Avenue in front of the restaurant, she straightened the blonde wig on her head, and made sure her glasses had not fallen off in the alley. Once she was certain she was ready, she approached the door, using every possible second to run through the plan one last time. She opened the door slowly and smiled at the two sentries that stood on either side of her. The man on the right looked her over from head to toe, seeming to undress her as her as he went. _Good,_ Kristen thought, _that'll make him easier to deal with._ The second guard was far more professional. He was older, in his mid-forties, and was also looking her over. However, he did not have the leer of a man consumed with desire. He had the professional eye of a guard looking everywhere for a threat.

Kristen took a moment to look around the restaurant, and noticed a young couple at a table inside, the last of the patrons to leave for the night. Not even any of the waitstaff was visible; nor were the chefs, who were usually shouting noisily at the sushi bar in the front of the restaurant. Other than those two patrons, she appeared to be alone with her targets. _Oh well,_ she thought sadly. _Too bad for them. I guess they're just in the wrong place at the wrong time._ _I hope their minds are strong enough to handle this._

In one fluid motion, Kristen drew her .38 pistol and whirled, putting a round between the eyes of the older guard. His body collapsed before the younger man had even realized what happened, and the thud of the corpse made more noise than Kristen's silenced round had. The younger man was only reaching for his own weapon when he was also put down, an identical shot to the head ending his life.

The young couple looked up at the Italian enforcer with wide eyes, neither of them able to believe that they had just seen two men's bloody deaths. _The guards at the door are dead,_ Kristen thought. _I'm in. Kill it._

A second later the lights in the building all went out as Tristan cut the power. More important than the lights being out though, Kristen knew, was the fact that the security cameras had been shut off as well. Now she would be free to use all of her abilities. The Italian rolled her shoulders, slipping out of the raincoat. She then unclipped her shoulder holster, sending her weapons to the floor. They would no longer be needed. Panic-stricken voices betrayed the fact that the Asians had discovered that the back doors had been blocked off. The only way out was the front door, and that meant they would have to get past Kristen Genetti. The Glass Walker did not like their chances.

Both the young man and woman had hidden under their table as soon as they had recovered their wits, and Kristen looked at the two of them in the dim light that filtered in through the front window. Then she smiled as she shifted her form into that of a seven-and-a-half-foot tall werewolf. The woman passed out in terror, and the man backed himself away as best he could without ever standing up. Genetti knew that both of the mortals had been overcome by the delirium. This was the effect that werewolves had upon mundanes. On an instinctual level, humans were terrified of these ultimate predators in a way that overrode their capacity for logic. No non-awakened being could consciously deal with the existence of a werewolf. Kristen knew that it was more than likely both witnesses would simply suffer from traumatic amnesia of the events they had witnessed. It was possible that their minds might be strong enough to remember some elements of what had happened, but they would fool themselves into believing in some alteration of reality. For instance, she knew, the man might later report to police that a lone assassin came in dressed up in a wolf mask to hide his identity. That was probably the closest he would be able to come to recalling the events accurately. Of course, if either of them was more weak-willed than the average human, there was the chance that the experience could drive them permanently insane, but Kristen did not have the time to worry about that possibility. There was a job that needed to be done.

The first two guards came from the back, screened-in room with mini-uzis in their hand. They saw Kristen standing before them, and were struck by the delirium as hard as the young couple had been. Both stood absolutely still, terrified beyond the capacity for action or thought. They offered no resistance as Genetti tore through their chests with razor-sharp claws. She would not have to worry about humans wondering about the manner of death of these criminals. A Glass Walker worked in the city coroner's office, and would cover up the details of the wounds. The official report would say that a sword-wielding assassin had cut the men open. There would be no mention that the wounds appeared to have been caused by a giant animal.

Once the first two men had been dispatched, Kristen advanced toward the back room, listening carefully to make certain that no one got past her. She heard the front door open behind her, and then heard Tristan's voice in her mind. _I've got your back, lass. Let's finish up and get out of here._

Two more men started firing down the hallway that Kristen was standing in. As she took up virtually the entire area, she was shot several times, but was unaffected. Small arms fire would do little but irritate her. Unless, of course, the bullets were made of silver. In this case, unfortunately for both Nguyen and Matsuoka, none of the guards had been armed with more effective ammunition. Kristen raced down the hall, restraining her rage every step of the way. She hated the Asian gangs and the tactics they employed. In her werewolf, or crinos, form she was capable of tearing her enemies to pieces. It was a rush of power she never grew tired of. She simply had to hold her strength in check for a matter of a few more seconds.

She reached the two gunmen and grabbed one in each hand, driving her taloned left fist through the chest of one, and slashing a thin wound across the neck of the other, severing every blood vessel in the man's throat. Kristen then moved on, advancing to the screened-in room where she knew the two bosses would be. She found them cowering in a corner, with two final guards standing between her and her prey.

The werewolf snarled, and then saw one guard grow his own hands into claws. The man grinned, exposing the enlarged canines common to all kindred. The other man increased his size dramatically, and steam began to rise from his skin. His hands also shifted form to resemble small scythes. _Very interesting,_ Kristen thought, advising her mage ally of the situation. _A fomor and a vampire make up the last line of defense._

_Wait for me,_ Tristan advised. _I'll handle the vampire. You might not be able to take both of them on your own._

_Don't count on it,_ Kristen replied. The werewolf released her rage, moving with supernatural speed at the kindred. She knocked the man back, leaving a gaping wound in the vampire's left thigh. The guard, in response, had left a thin wound on her right forearm. With one enemy off his feet, Kristen turned in a flash to the fomor, the human that had allowed itself to be corrupted by the Wyrm, the pseudo-deity that served as Satan in garou theology. As a result of its betrayal of its natural existence, the fomor had been completely dominated by its evil master, and lived only to corrupt the natural world and other human beings. As a trade-off, it gained supernatural powers. As soon as the fomor struck Kristen's jaw, the garou surmised that one of this fomor's abilities was augmented strength. She was knocked from her feet, but managed to sweep the fomor's legs from beneath it before it could take advantage of its superior position.

The garou then looked across the room and saw the vampire lunging at her. She managed to roll out of the way quickly enough to avoid a serious injury, but still suffered a deep slash into her left shoulder. The kindred was still above her, and she noticed the fomor rising to his feet. _Perhaps you were right,_ she admitted silently.

"Perhaps," she heard Tristan comment from the door behind her. She did not look at the mage, but heard the snap of his lightsaber igniting, and the hum that continually emanated from the weapon. Both the fomor and the vampire looked at Tristan in disbelief.

"What?" the mage asked the two guards in the brief standoff that followed. "You didn't really think Jedi were fictitious, did you? You mean to tell me a vampire is going to become secure in thinking beings in fiction stories just aren't real?"

The kindred did not respond, but instead lunged at the mage. Tristan dodged to the left and swiped at the vampire's right arm, severing it cleanly from the body. The vampire screamed in pain and disbelief as he viewed his arm lying on the floor. Tristan spun as he swung again at the vampire, gaining momentum for his strike. His lightsaber went cleanly through the kindred's neck, severing its head from its body.

Once Tristan had occupied the vampire's attention, Kristen had been able to focus her efforts against the fomor. She lunged forward and dodged a strike from the oversized man, and slashed into his midsection. Steam shot out from the wound, scorching the werewolf's claw. Kristen howled in pain as she looked down at her blistering hand, but grit her teeth and prepared to finish off her opponent. Although she had been burned badly as the price of her attack, the fomor had been doubled over, and was now trying to lift its innards from the floor and place them back within its chest. Genetti did not plan on passing up the momentary opening. She picked up a chair and swung it with all her might at the back of the fomor's head. The back of the creature's skull caved in, and it died instantly.

Both Tristan and Genetti turned to the Asian bosses at the same time. Kristen heard the lightsaber turn off, and took a step forward, knowing that the mage was leaving the dirty work to her. He would only help as much as was necessary to give her the opportunity to defeat her foes. He would not actually vanquish them for her.

"Who are you?" Nguyen managed to ask, fighting against the effects of the delirium. Kristen was impressed at the man's strength of will. Few mundanes would ever have been able to steel their minds against fear with a werewolf staring down at them with murder in its eyes.

Kristen shrunk back down to her homid, or human form. Nguyen's eyes went wide. "Your boss will never be able to take control of the city. Even if you kill us, others will take our place, and Luna will always oppose you."

"Luna will not have much longer to live," Tristan commented from the doorway. "He's one of the reasons I'm here."

"And as for anyone replacing you," Kristen said evenly, "I can only say that you won't be around to ever see it." She reached to the small of her back and drew a 9 mm Glock, which had been held to her waist in an elastic belt with a holster. This had allowed her to shapeshift while retaining possession of a firearm. The Italian fired three times, putting all three rounds into Nguyen's skull. She looked over Matsuoka, and noticed that the man appeared to have died. She walked over and felt his neck. "Damn," she commented. "He's already dead. "I guess he had a heart attack or something."

"You have seen him during the day, right?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah, he's not kindred," Kristen replied. "I guess we might as well leave him here like this. Let his successor worry about what we did that was so awful it scared Matsuoka to death."

"I thought the Italian families were above using terror tactics," Tristan asked cheerily.

"Not if it suits our purposes," Kristen relied with a thin smile. As the adrenaline from the battle wore off, she began to feel the pain from the wounds on her shoulder and forearm.

"Allow me," Tristan offered as he walked up to the garou. He placed his hand on the wound, ignoring the grimace of pain that his action evoked from the assassin. Within a matter of seconds, the discomfort had disappeared. Genetti looked at her wounds in disbelief to see that they had been mended. "See?" Tristan asked with a smile. "Mages can be very useful."

"I guess I can't argue with that," Kristen replied. "But what the hell is with the lightsaber?"

"It's just a magical focus," Tristan replied simply. "The blade is pure magical essence, not energy. I've actually been using a magical blade for over a hundred years now. I only built a new one to resemble a lightsaber after Star Wars came out back in '77. This way, when mundanes see it, they think I've invented a lightsaber. The shock on their minds is lessened considerably, allowing them to accept what they see more easily. That means that paradox within the universe is decreased, and the use of the magic hurts me less."

"You've been alive for over a hundred years?" Kristen asked, focusing in on Tristan's comment about his age more than anything else he said. To grow that old was a crime against the natural order of things, the same kind of crime that kindred were guilty of. She grew more uneasy with every passing second.

"Sure'n I am," Tristan replied. "It's not what you think, though. I don't use my magic to keep myself alive. I'm Kith."

"What?"

"Kith," Tristan repeated. "I'm descended from faerie folk. Like you, I wasn't born completely human. You get to grow into a scary-ass wolf, I get to live naturally for centuries. I'm a magical creature. That reminds me, I was wondering if you could do something for me…."

****

VIII

Johnny Yashida sat silently outside the Steps of Rome coffeehouse, knowing that every moment he spent out in the open was endangering his life. He knew the risk he was taking was necessary, though. There had been no other way.

A group of five teens walked down the street toward him, and the small Telemon looked each of them over carefully, knowing that any one of them could be Jenni in disguise. He shook his head in disgust at himself. _She could be anyone here,_ he reminded himself. _She doesn't still have to seem like a teenager._ Yashida knew all too well that Jenni had probably learned the vampiric discipline of obfuscate. Among other things, this ability granted its user the skill of appearing to be completely unrecognizable. _For all I know, Jenni's that old woman getting into that cab across the street._ The Telemon knew he would never be able to stop jumping at everyone that walked within five feet of him, so he concentrated instead on taking faith in his defenses.

Johnny glanced inside to make certain Uiko was still in view. She was the elder of his two most recent childer, and was still a secret to everyone but Michelle. Not even the other Telemon knew that he had embraced two new members into the clan. Johnny figured he would keep Uiko and her brother, Mason, a secret until he felt they were ready to make it on their own. Not until he released them would let Siras know that they existed.

The young, obviously Italian man behind the counter inside seemed to be enjoying Uiko's presence even more than Johnny was. _Of course he would,_ Johnny thought. _And why not? She's everything a mortal man would lust for._ Indeed, Uiko's attractiveness had a great deal to do with his decision to embrace her. She would be able to get close to men, to either learn their secrets or dispose of them, whichever was more convenient at the time. In addition, however, she had been raised by the Yakuza to be an assassin. The Japanese crime syndicate had also taken advantage of Uiko's attractiveness, although Johnny doubted that his childe's former masters had ever cared about her as he did. He would never see her as the disposable pawn that the Yakuza had. Her superiors had sent her to assassinate a virtually unreachable foe, and though she had succeeded, she had been gunned down in the process. Her two comrades had left her for dead, and then Yashida had found her. By allowing her to drink some of his blood, he had strengthened the ninja assassin. She had pledged herself to him in gratitude for his actions, and Johnny had revealed his true nature to her, and offered the embrace. Uiko jumped at the opportunity at immortality, and within a week was a blood-bound soldier of the Telemon clan. Yashida figured that he would keep Uiko with him for at least twenty years. Her talents complemented his far more than they did any other Telemon's, and no one else in the clan would be as suitable a mentor for her.

Johnny shook himself from his momentary reverie, furious that he had let his mind wander, especially given his situation. He looked back at Uiko, and saw her flirting with two college-aged men. Once again, she was found too attractive to be ignored. Johnny looked at his childe with pride, thinking how he would have felt if he had been a mortal man faced with such an attractive woman. Uiko stood about 5'3", and weighed only about 100 lbs. Her features were sharp, however, creating an aura of strength despite her petite frame. She dressed casually, only wearing a pair of Nikes, blue jeans, and a UC-Berkeley sweatshirt. On her head she wore an LA Dodgers baseball cap, an item of clothing that could cause some debate in San Francisco. Her long black hair, streaked with read and blonde, hung down over her back in a ponytail. It was her smile, though, that attracted the most attention; it caused her face light up like no other Johnny had ever seen. It drew one's gaze even more than usual to her eyes, deep dark brown eyes that seemed both warm and secretive. _What man could ever possibly resist?_ Johnny thought again. Tonight, however, the mission was not for Uiko to attract attention and seduce her prey. Instead, she needed to keep a low profile. She needed to fit in, yet still keep an eye on her sire. Yashida thought she was doing well.

A casual glance across the street was the only indication Johnny ever gave that he also had a second associate present. Joseph Mason, Johnny's youngest childe, was on a rooftop with a Barret sniper rifle. He would gun down any attacker, hopefully before a fatal wound was inflicted. Like Uiko, finding Mason had been one of the greatest strokes of luck Johnny had ever experienced. He had his assassin childe out to feed for the first time, and had led her to an airport bar. She had gone over to Mason to seduce him, to get him alone so that she could feed. When she had finally sank her teeth into him, however, she had recoiled in disgust. Chemicals inundated the man's system. When Uiko had suddenly stopped feeding, Mason felt blood on his throat from her unhealed bite. He stood and fought her off, parrying every strike she sent his way. Yashida had watched, amazed at the man's skill. The two combatants fought for several minutes, neither one gaining a solid advantage. Uiko was too fast for Mason, but he was too strong for her. Eventually Johnny broke the two up, and dominated the mortal man. He had instantly wanted to embrace Uiko's victim, but wanted to know more. It was then that Johnny found out Mason had been a Navy SEAL. He had done his tour, got a job in the secret Service, and was considered good enough to guard a presidential candidate. Then Mason was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. He would die soon, and was placed on leave. Johnny offered the man a new chance. As kindred, Yashida knew, Mason would no longer need to worry about cancer. He would live as long as he was not killed. Mason, like Uiko, had jumped at the chance, and with Michelle's help, Yashida had trained them both in the ways of the kindred. This was their first real assignment, and for his own sake, Johnny hoped his childer were up to the task.

Yashida looked back up the street, gazing at every vehicle that went by. One of them, he knew, would be driven by his contact. He waited for another fifteen minutes before a black BMW pulled to a stop outside the coffee shop, and a man dressed all in black stepped out.

"Good evening," Yashida called out. "I was beginning to wonder whether you'd make it."

"Ah, Mr. Yashida," Heinrich Schacter answered. "I did not recognize you at first. You are not dressed as you were last time we met."

"I'm in disguise," Johnny answered. _Some disguise though_, he thought silently. Yashida could not believe that people would not be casting an occasional glance his way. At least, a small, vain part of him hoped they would. The clothes he was wearing were expensive enough. He wore a dark gray, custom tailored Armani suit with a collarless, burgundy silk shirt. On his feet he wore Italian, burgundy leather shoes, a concession to his childe. If Johnny had had his way, he would still be wearing his tobi boots, even though he knew they did not go with his ensemble.

"You have some information for me, no?" Schacter asked, sitting across from the Telemon. During his last visit to San Francisco, the mage had come to respect Yashida's knack for gathering information, and hoped that Johnny's skills had not faded in the intervening years.

"Yes, but it's going to cost you," Johnny replied.

"How much?" Schacter asked.

"Not money," Johnny answered with a thin grin. The Telemon cast another glance down the street, and then to each of the patrons sitting outside, still making certain no one was watching him. "We are both men of special talents, money is something we can get for ourselves whenever we need to," Johnny continued, once again focussing on the wizard sitting across from him. "What I need is information and favors, those are the costs of my services."

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Schacter replied, immediately getting to the point. He did not feel as if he had a lot of time to haggle.

"I want you to leave my clan alone," Johnny answered immediately. "I've done some asking around about you, and I've found out you're a big-time kindred hunter. If you want my help here, you have to swear that you will not hunt the Telemon. You will not supply associates with information about my clan so that they can hunt us in your stead. If asked, you won't even acknowledge our existence. We're having enough problems as it is. The last thing our young bloodline needs is human hunters coming after us."

"And why would I ever agree to this?" Schacter asked.

"Several reasons," Johnny answered. "First of all, like I said, we're young. Realistically thinking, we'll probably all get wiped out before you ever get around to killing us anyway. Second, we often fight the Sabbat. I'm sure you're more than willing to have one vampire sect go about doing your work for you, fighting another group. Third, there's always professional courtesy. You could show a bit of gratitude."

"Gratitude?" Schacter asked. "This is business. What you get is what you bargain for. There will be no further favors because of past goodwill. It does not work that way."

"Well, let me explain it this way," Johnny offered. "The fact of the matter is, as I see it, that if you try to go about killing kindred in this city, you're going to die. Probably very slowly, and very painfully. You've been a rather useful associate, and I'd hate to lose you. However, like you said, this is business, and there's no place for sentiment here. You are still a mage, and you hunt my kind. That's not something I'm likely to overlook anytime soon. I should probably let you leave here with the impression that it's business as usual here in San Francisco, and let you find out too late what's going on. Then my kind would have one less hunter to worry about."

"Except that you would not get me to believe that it's business as usual, Mr. Yashida," Schacter replied. "I know that strange things have happened in Oakland, and that several kindred in San Francisco have been killed."

"Oh, that?" Johnny asked simply. "That was a covert war between Luna and Basil."

"What?"

"Basil decided he wanted both sides of the bay," Johnny replied. "He had his childer wipe out all the anarchs in Oakland before settling in, just so that he would be able to turn against Luna that much sooner. The Tremere found out what was up, and met secretly with the Telemon. They wanted Basil to kill Julian, but also wanted to be certain that there could be an effective counter-strike prepared once Basil had done the Tremere's dirty work for them. Basil found out somehow and sent a couple of guys over to whack Magnus and Stephen at their meeting. I saw the whole thing."

"So this has simply been a power play between bordering princes?" Schacter asked. All of his suspicions, all of his concerns that things seemed far more out of whack than usual, seemed to fade away.

"No," Yashida replied. "Actually, that's nothing like the truth. I just wanted you to know that I could easily lie to you if I wanted to."

"I could dominate you, of course, and get the information I want no matter what," Schacter threatened.

"Yes, but that would be the last thing you'd ever do," Yashida replied. "See, I have an associate who presently has the back of your skull in the cross hairs of a .50 caliber rifle. He's listening in on the entire conversation. If I start acting weird, you die. If weird things happen anywhere near here, you die. If you try to take preventative steps against him and knock out the mike, you die. Since you have no idea where he is, you are rather powerless."

"Do you have any idea what I could do to you?" Heinrich asked venomously.

"Of course I do," Johnny replied. "Why do you think I took all these precautions? However, like I said before, I feel you are a valuable business partner. I do not wish to offend you. Just be certain that we are on a level playing field. True, I have threatened to have your head blown off by an unseen gunman. However, remember that you did threaten to dominate me and take my stock in trade without paying. That wasn't very nice either." Yashida smiled gregariously, hoping to defuse some of the tension he had built up.

Despite himself, the mage also grinned slightly. Again Yashida scanned the street, but this time the mage spotted the subtle action. _So, I make him even more nervous than he's letting on,_ Schacter thought confidently. _He's afraid I also have some help. Perhaps I should play up that angle._

"What makes you think I did not also bring allies?" Schacter asked. Yashida hardly noticed the question, instead being distracted by another group of teenagers.

"What?" the Telemon asked a moment later, once he realized he had missed something.

"How do you know I don't have backup, too?" Schacter questioned again.

"How do you know I care?" Johnny replied. "I can outrun a mage, I'm sure. You cannot outrun my friend's bullet, and you can't use much magic until you've identified the threat. Anyway, I know a bit about mages. You do anything major out here, and you're likely to have your head blow up with paradox. These are mortals all over here. You can't cast in front of them."

"True," Schacter conceded, realizing that he had not been concerning Yashida after all. _It's something else,_ he realized. _Something else is making this vampire as nervous as hell, being out in the open._

"Are we done threatening each other now?" Johnny asked. "I'd really like to get this over and get out of here."

"So I noticed," Heinrich replied smoothly. "What has you so jumpy?"

"Before I tell you, I think there's still the matter of the favor I asked for," Johnny said, reminding his acquaintance that all information has its price.

"How do you know I'll keep my word?" Heinrich asked. "Even if I promise not to hunt you and your clan, what makes you so certain that I will not go back on my word?"

"I could always dominate you," Johnny said, allowing a friendly smile. His expression eased the mood as much as he had hoped, and Heinrich leaned back in his hair, appearing to give the proposal serious consideration.

"Very well, Mr. Yashida," the mage finally said. "You have been very convincing, and you are, of course, quite correct. Your clan is rather insignificant, and will most likely be wiped out in due course. I will not hunt you, nor will any others which ask me for possible targets."

"Excellent," Yashida answered. "I think you gave in too easily, though. I probably should have asked for more."

"I would not push my luck if I were you, Mr. Yashida," Heinrich responded with a hint of menace.

"Yeah, I know," Johnny said. "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger."

"Our reputation seems to have preceded us."

"Just what do you know already?" Johnny asked. "Tell me that, and I can fill in the blanks."

"Very well," Heinrich replied. "Our scout has informed us that the anarch population of Oakland was wiped out, as you mentioned earlier. Strangely, the new prince did not seem to be behind it. We ignored it at first, since we assumed it was a mass exodus of Brujah when a Brujah hunting Ventrue prince seized power. However, this turned out to not be the case. The three main gangs that had been in the city never resurfaced anywhere else. That caught our attention.

"Of course, recently there have been the deaths of the Oakland prince and his guards, as well as Magnus and Stephen at their secret meeting, the topic of which I am still in the dark. I have heard rumors that several Gangrel have also been killed."

"Also the Toreador primogen," Johnny added. "They've all been hunted by a predator within our own ranks."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"You know Sasha, I assume?" Johnny asked. Heinrich nodded in response. "Not long ago, we were placed under siege by the Sabbat. During that war, Sasha took a ward, a teenage girl that had presumably been embraced by the Sabbat. This 'girl' is the one that killed Magnus and Stephen."

"How?" Heinrich asked.

"From what I saw, I'd say she's an elder," Johnny said evenly. "I've seen a few elders in my time, but this girl is at least three steps beyond anything I've even heard of. Magnus was more powerful than the average vampire, but she toyed with him. I would assume she's been behind all the killing."

"Did she see you?" Heinrich asked.

"I kept the shadows about me at all times," Johnny answered. "I guess she could have made me, but I doubt it. I haven't exactly been willing to take any chances, though. I left for awhile to hide in Fresno."

"Fresno?" Heinrich asked. "Who goes to Fresno anymore?"

"Luckily, no one looking for me happens to go there," Yashida replied.

"So why did you come back?"

"My stupid blood-brother is in the city," Yashida said. "I told him to get out, but I know he won't listen. He's been ordered to stay, and he won't disobey an order from his sire. He's a well-trained soldier, not an experienced, freethinking commander. He will obey his orders without question rather than get creative and come up with a strategy of his own. Retreat will not be an option."

"So you came back to get him out?" Heinrich asked. The mage was surprised that someone as self-involved as Johnny appeared to care enough to risk his life for someone whose judgement he seemed to openly criticize. _Rare enough to find such a quality in a human,_ Heinrich pondered, _let alone in a vampire_.

"So you think you're up to this?" Johnny asked. "I seriously doubt you have any idea what you're getting into here."

"I would not worry too much, Mr. Yashida," Heinrich assured the kindred. "My brother and I are experienced in these matters. When we are together, nothing can stand before us."

"And where exactly is your brother?" Yashida asked.

"He is busy with other matters," Heinrich replied. "Where do you think we can find this... elder?"

Yashida noticed the doubt in Heinrich's voice when he referred to Jenni, and could only wonder what the mage was thinking in not taking the threat seriously. "You had better take my word for it," Yashida warned. "This is not some Brujah bike dyke you're gonna be putting down. This is an elder. She will quite literally eat you alive. You really have no idea what you're getting into."

"Why Mr. Yashida, you almost seem concerned," Heinrich replied. "I think I'm touched."

"Fine," Yashida decided. "If you want to ignore my warnings, then so be it." A bright flash of light made Yashida jump, and he looked around in the sky. In a moment he realized it had just been lightning.

"Are you all right Johnny?" he heard in his ear. Mason was calling him. Yashida knew if he didn't use the code word, Heinrich would be killed in a matter of seconds.

"Cool as a nice guacamole dip," Yashida replied. "Just lightning. Must be getting jumpy."

"Must be," Heinrich agreed, not realizing Yashida had been speaking with his childe.

"Looks like a storm's coming in," Johnny commented.

"You don't know the half of it," Heinrich said. "So where may my brother and I find this elder?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Johnny replied. "Like I said, I've been out of town. I think I'd be willing to take a guess, though."

"Where?"

"Well, when one wants to catch a big fish, one should use a lot of bait, no?"

"That is what I've heard," the German replied.

"There's a meeting at a secret location in just a short while," Johnny said. "Most everyone will be there. I would be surprised if Jenni doesn't show up. There are precious few of us as it is, but she can't risk us getting organized. I don't know if we could kill her, but you can never be sure. If she's as old as I think, she isn't likely to be the kind to make stupid mistakes. She'll show."

"Tonight?" Heinrich asked. "That's cutting it close. I don't know that my brother will be ready. Like I said, he's busy with other assignments."

"Well, my only job is to give the information," Johnny replied, "and I've done that. When you show up, remember your promise. My clanmates will not be harmed."

"Not by either me or my brother," Heinrich agreed. "However, they're alone against this elder if we should fail in our mission."

"Why don't you just let me worry about that?" Yashida replied confidently. "I might be scared shitless, but that doesn't mean I don't have a plan. I'd suggest you get on that cell phone of yours and call your brother." Johnny pushed a business card across the table. "This is my number. If you're good to go, give me a call, and I'll let you know the address of the meeting. Then you can go and do your thing." The Telemon squinted momentarily as another bright streak of lightning lit the sky. "I just hope you're as strong as you say, or we're all dead."

****

IX

Julian Luna looked slowly around the interior of the Telemon Compound, impressed by everything that he saw. When he had gone up the drive, he had found everything that he had expected. The defenses of the estate had been as thorough as he thought possible – a double perimeter, several guards, security cameras, and guard dogs, which he had been told were a recent addition. He had figured the main building would be as functional as its surroundings. That was not the case, however.

The oak-paneled walls of the foyer were decorated with portraits of some of history's greatest military leaders. Napoleon, Washington, Nimitz, Rommel, Yamamoto, Hannibal, Lee, Wellington, Von Richtoven, and Nelson all gazed down at visitors. At the base of the staircase were two statues, one of Julius Caesar, and one of Alexander the Great. Such hero worship did not surprise San Francisco's prince. What did surprise him, however, was the opulence of the Telemon haven. A plush Oriental rug covered the floor, and Revolution-era American furniture lent a warm, lived-in feel to the room. _True,_ Julian thought, _the feeling of warmth is lacking a bit with the presence of several armed guards, but there's definite potential._ Luna actually found himself noting a couple of decorations that he would have to look into adding to his own home.

All thoughts of home furnishings disappeared instantly, however, as Julian caught sight of the two men that were walking down the stairs toward him. Matthew Reimer and Patrick Collins, the heads of the Telemon and Tremere, respectively, seemed far too comfortable with each other's company. _Great, the warlocks and the grunts in an unholy alliance,_ the prince pondered. _Should we actually survive this current threat, I'll find things will probably get far more complicated._ Julian looked to his right, and took comfort in Daedalus' presence. No matter what else ever happened around him, he had always been able to take comfort in the friendship of the Nosferatu primogen, and the loyalty of the Nosferatu clan. They were significant assets, and would always cause the other primogen to pause before doing anything foolish.

"Welcome to my humble home," Matt said pleasantly, noting with satisfaction that Julian seemed duly impressed with the Telemon Compound.

"There doesn't seem to be anything humble about this place," Julian commented. "You seem to have done well for yourself here on the West Coast."

"Most of the clan's wealth comes from back east," Matt lied. He had no intention of allowing the prince to know that the Telemon clan had grown rich through illegal arms sales. For the most part, San Francisco's small mage population had developed a stranglehold on the area's weapons traffic. The Telemon, however, had worked out a private arrangement that was beneficial to all parties. It had allowed everyone to grow wealthy.

"Well, I'm here," Julian stated needlessly. "What did you all want to meet about?"

"We want to get our shit together and start bashing skulls," Cash said as he walked out from a door down a hallway to Julian's right. "I've lost lots of people, oh prince of peace, and I haven't seen you do jack shit."

"I've had many concerns of my own," Luna replied.

"Yes, we've all noticed," Patrick said evenly. "You've lost control of the human mobs. Even now they're tearing the city apart while someone seems to be hunting us. This is unacceptable. Your strength over us has always amounted to your influence over the mortals. Now even that seems to be lost. It may be time for a new prince."

"You think you're up to the job?" Julian challenged.

"What do you take me for?" Patrick replied. "You think I'm some stupid Brujah? You think I'm Cameron, or his predecessor Fiori who I've heard so much about? I won't dare say I think I'm ready for the position. The primogen must willingly obey the prince for the position to mean anything. So I think the primogen should be the one to choose their leader. In this city, at this time, the position of prince can only be given, not taken."

"Well said," Julian replied. Even as he spoke the words, something inside him died. He could not believe that everything seemed to be ending. He felt like he was an old fighter, suddenly taken into late rounds by a younger, stronger challenger. Every fiber of his being told him that his reign was coming to a close, but he would not accept defeat. Not yet. Archon Raine, his sire, had trained him to be stronger than that. "Am I to take it by your presence, Cash, that you are ready to return to the table of the primogen."

"Absolutely," Cash replied. "I'm here to help choose the new prince."

"We still seem to be lacking a Toreador primogen," Julian commented. "I will not oppose any vote you wish to take, but not until everyone is represented."

"I now speak for the Toreador," Toby said from behind the prince. Julian turned quickly and saw his closest bodyguard walk inside slowly. "I have been permitted by my clan to vote in all matters of the primogen." The Toreador gave Julian a thin smile, and Luna knew he could very well have gained an ally.

"Let's not forget the Brujah," Julian added. "Though they're disorganized, they are still present. They should have someone to speak for them."

"I disagree," Patrick said. "You have tried for too long to force the Brujah into conformity. They are rebels without a clue. It's in their blood. You cannot force them to organize. Better to leave them as they are in the other cities of the New World. Let them run about, challenging authority without ever taking the responsibility to justify their opinions."

"It seems to work everywhere else," Cash said.

"Very well," Julian stated. He had hoped to have Sasha allowed into the building to vote, but that plan would apparently not work. He counted on having the Toreador, Nosferatu, and his own Ventrue on his side of the vote. Against him would be the Tremere, Telemon, and Gangrel. In a stalemate, he would retain power. Then he could eradicate the human mobsters and replace them with more manageable pawns. Finally, he would build a brood of his own, childer that would give him power over the others. Julian had always hesitated to embrace childer to fight his battles for him. He had hated being Archon's enforcer, but he saw now that the position had value. He would fill it.

"There is a room that I think you'll find satisfactory," Matt offered, motioning for Julian to follow up the stairs. "It's not quite as elegant as your meeting room, but under the circumstances, it will have to do."

Matt led the group to his study, where a large mahogany table had been prepared. Six mahogany chairs surrounded the table, and Julian went to sit at the head. Each of the others filled in exactly as they would have had they been in Julian's mansion.

"Before we begin, Julian, I would like to apologize for the surroundings," Patrick said. "We normally would never have called you down from your ivory tower, but things have been rough out here lately. Maybe you've heard. The Tremere chantry was burned to the ground last night, and many of my clanmates were incinerated. So I came here." Patrick could see the look of surprise on Julian's face. _He's more out of touch than I realized,_ the Tremere primogen thought. _He doesn't even know about the attack on my clan._ "After last night, I decided not to risk any of my people going out again."

"And I figured if the Tremere aren't safe, then I'm keeping my people near me," Matt said. "Besides, this place is at least as secure as that place you live."

"Probably more so," Patrick commented. "Though that's no sleight against you," he said to Toby.

"I know," Toby said, though in fact he was well aware of the opinion the other clans had of the Toreador. In many ways, he shared that opinion, though his feelings of personal inadequacy could only go so far. He had trained hard to make certain he would be seen as the exception to the rule of the Toreador being the weakest of the kindred.

"I'm here to get you to get your ass in motion," Cash said. "I found Jana and Shelly dead, and there was no forthcoming response from my prince. Do you have any idea how sick of this shit I am? My friend K.T. said I should come on over and smack you around a bit."

"I don't know if I'd recommend trying that," Julian muttered with more than a hint of menace.

"Why not?" Cash asked. "For years we've all been hearing about how we shouldn't mess with you, how the great Julian Luna will stomp your balls into the ground if you fuck with him. Well I'll tell ya Julian, even that bitch whore niece of yours is looking tougher than you nowadays."

"Enough," Julian snarled. The prince's eyes glowed a dull yellow, betraying his rage, and his fingernails had started to bite into the hard wood tabletop. He was obviously just barely holding his anger in check.

"So you have a pair after all," Cash said with a grin. "Who would have thunk it?"

"Cash please" Patrick said calmly. The Gangrel's smile grew, and he sat back comfortably in his chair. Cash had accomplished his part. He had angered the prince. Now it was for Patrick and Matt to finish the job.

"I know we've been hit pretty hard lately, but we can deal with this," Julian said evenly, trying to regain his composure. "We've been attacked before. There's no reason to lose it this time. We have to stay together."

"In the past five years, we've been all but decimated," Patrick said. "Just before my clan arrived, the Ventrue, Brujah and Gangrel lost many of their best warriors in a war against a pack of garou. None of the clans has even come close to recovering from that fiasco. It even got so bad that when a couple of gangs of anarchs came into town, that the Gangrel and Brujah had to actually end decades of hostility just to defend their common interests." Patrick smiled thinly for a moment as he mentioned the threat that the anarchs had posed. Indeed, it had been his own grandsire that had caused much of the trouble from behind the scenes.

"Just when things seemed they couldn't get any worse, we were besieged by the Sabbat," Patrick continued. "We couldn't even make use of the Toreador, because their primogen was unjustly accused of being in league with them." The Tremere glanced over to Toby, who seemed pleased that the accusations of Toreador involvement with the Sabbat were termed as being unjust. Then he continued. "After that, the only soldiers we had came from the fledgling Telemon clan, and the Brujah. Well, true to form, the Brujah decided to throw away half of our best warriors in a civil war amongst themselves. Now all we really have is the Telemon, and we're faced with a great threat, a threat I warned you about days ago. Still you haven't done anything."

"And what would you have him do?" a powerful voice asked as the door was thrown open. In the doorway stood Thorne, his massive frame taking up the entire entrance. Every kindred at the table was on his feet in a second, prepared to deal with this sudden threat. Before anyone could act, however, the elder had raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. "Trust me, you are among friends for now," he said.

Thorne strode into the room, followed lightly by K.T. While the Gangrel mercenary was by no means a small man, he appeared dwarfed compared to the larger elder. No one even seemed to notice K.T. as he walked into the corner, sat down, and pulled out his Ruger Redhawk, looking over the weapon to make certain it would be ready if it was needed. All eyes remained fixed on Thorne. The man wore a heavy black cloak over his shoulders, which only served to increase the impression of his size. Underneath were loose-fitting black cotton breeches, a black tunic, and black boots. None of the clothing he wore could accurately be considered as modern style. Indeed, the man seemed to have fallen out of the 1600's. None of the several weapons Thorne always carried were visible, but his sheer size and force of presence were enough to intimidate everyone in the room.

"Who are you?" Julian demanded, taking the words from everyone's mouth.

"I am an elder," Thorne replied. "A Methuselah, to be more precise. I am an experimenter and sower of discord. I cultivate the strong, and prune the weak. I ensure the strength of our kind. My name is Thorne."

"That's an awfully long self-introduction," Patrick said evenly. The Tremere attempted to keep his composure after hearing Thorne claim to be a Methuselah, one of the fourth generation, and thus one of the most powerful of all the kindred. He simply attempted to put Thorne on the defensive, so that he could not be analyzed too closely. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to help," Thorne replied simply. "You are all on the verge of extinction, though you may not know it. I have already lost several promising bloodlines in this city. Most recently, Eddie Fiori's line died. I do not intend to lose any more."

"What are you talking about?" Matt asked.

"If time permits, I will explain myself more fully later," Thorne answered. "Suffice to say that I have been watching you all for quite awhile. I was the one that arranged for the Telemon to battle the Sabbat Bishop and his Templars. I also arranged for Julian's assault on the secondary Sabbat hideout."

"So you're the one," Julian said. He had wondered who had advised him to attack the theater that the Sabbat had been hiding within. Now he knew, but that knowledge only helped to produce more questions.

"I have been watching everything in the city for quite awhile," Thorne commented. "I was even around when Rayce was killed in his battle with Basil Romanov." Thorne cast a sideways glance again at Julian, and the prince became uncomfortable, hoping that the true events of that night were never brought to light. If that happened, he would never be able to hold his city. "I am here now because of the kindred that you all call Jenni," Thorne continued.

Once the childe's name was spoken, an alarm went off in Julian's mind. _What did Thorne say a moment ago?_ the prince asked himself. _It was something about Fiori. What was it?_ In a moment of horror, Julian realized the detail he had overlooked. "What did you mean when Fiori's line had been extinguished?" Julian asked the elder.

"Earlier this evening, Sasha was killed," Thorne said. "After I realized Jenni's true identity, I went with K.T. to the childe's home, wondering if I could locate her. I wanted to be able to keep tabs on her. When we arrived there were the sounds of screaming from inside. It was Sasha, and she was in pain. A few minutes later, Jenni walked out of her front door, and left her apartment burning. K.T. and I recovered what was left of Sasha's body, in case you wish to bury it later."

"Sasha..." Julian mumbled. "Jenni killed her?" the prince asked. "How could it be?"

"Because she is also an elder," Thorne replied. "She has been in your city, feeding on the kindred here for quite awhile, though I did not discover this until earlier tonight."

"She's an elder?" Patrick asked, obviously doubting the story.

"Yes, she's even older than I am," Thorne replied.

"And how old are you?" Cash asked.

"Have you read the Bible?" Thorne asked. Cash nodded. "Then you may have heard of the story of David and Goliath. Goliath was my older brother." Even K.T.'s eyes went wide as Thorne revealed his true age. The mercenary had never even dreamt that such ancient kindred were real. He had always considered the stories to be just that – stories.

"My God," Daedalus said. "The childe is the one that has been killing my clanmates?"

"She is not a childe," Thorne reiterated. "Her name is Vidria, and she is the most vicious creature I have ever seen. She is powerful. As strong as I am, I doubt that I could defeat her. You will all have to help me. Even together, I don't know that we'll survive."

"Funny, I doubt it, too," a voice said from the doorway. Thorne turned in an instant and looked down at Jenni. The child was smiling innocently, sweetly, as she tossed the heads of two of Matt's ghouls into the room. "Who are you?" she asked Thorne immediately. "How do you know me?" Before the large man could answer, automatic gunfire erupted from down the hall. Several more guards had arrived on the scene, and they were not willing to ask questions of a girl they had seen with the heads of house guards in her hands.

The bullets almost seemed to pass right through Vidria's body. Her clothing flew off in tatters, but her flesh held together, despite the velocity of the armor-piercing rounds the guards were firing. Thorne took the opportunity to strike, lunging at the childe. She proved to be faster, however, and parried Thorne's hatchet away in a single stroke. Her hands, grown into razor-sharp claws in a fraction of a second, swiped at Thorne's midsection, but he was able to arch his back and keep his abdomen just out of the girl's reach. He countered, but Vidria also dodged, and then dove to the floor and grabbed Thorne's leg. She crushed the bone in her vise-like grip, toppling the giant to the floor. With Thorne momentarily out of the way, the others were able to attack, and a volley of gunfire erupted from behind Matt's mahogany table. Vidria ducked away, and Thorne rolled further into the room, using the precious moments he had gained to mend his shattered tibia.

Outside the room, another salvo of gunfire was heard as the guards opened fire again. This time, the bullets ended prematurely. Jenni's scream could be heard from the end of the hall a moment later. "God damnit," she yelled. "They're ghouls. I can't drink these men. Why don't you at least have the decency to have kindred guards?"

"She can only feed on her own kind," Thorne explained succinctly back in the study as each of the other kindred looked at him. "She is every bit as powerful as I thought," the elder stated. "We might want to think about retreat."

"I hear you in there," Vidria teased from outside the room. "You think you'd even be able to escape?"

Matt made a few rapid gestures to Patrick, and the Tremere understood completely. The Telemon wanted them to keep Jenni talking. Hoping his counterpart had a plan, Patrick went about doing what Matt wanted.

"My clan has heard about the elders," Patrick said smoothly. "There's a lot I bet I could learn from you. And I'm sure there's something I could teach."

"I seriously doubt it, warlock," Jenni retorted.

"I know the secrets of my clan's blood magic," Patrick said smoothly. Collins knew that he had been made a primogen of his clan because of his ability to be persuasive, to play at politics. His sire had once stated that Patrick could con the devil himself if he ever wanted to. Collins just hoped that his sire's faith had not been misplaced.

"Your knowledge in exchange for your life?" Jenni asked from outside.

"I'll kill you before you make the bargain, warlock," Cash spat, more than willing to play along with the charade. Thorne smiled thinly, amazed that men that were at each other's throats moments earlier were able to work so well as a unit now. He would truly miss them if they were destroyed.

"Seems like a fair trade," Patrick said, ignoring Cash's interruption. The Tremere looked at Matt, who had by now opened a trap door in the floor. He was gesturing for everyone to go through it. Patrick sneaked a quick look at the door, and saw the large room by the entrance underneath. He smiled when he realized that the small chute downstairs probably came out right behind the portrait of Wellington. _Nothing like using the picture of an overrated English general to cover up your escape route,_ Patrick thought.

The primogen all piled out of the room, with Patrick going through last, as he kept Jenni talking until the last moment. By the time he slipped through, Jenni had walked back to the doorway, and had seen that her prey had escaped her.

"No!" she screamed. "You're not going anywhere!" She was about to follow through the trap door, but at the last second thought better of it. She had no idea where the passage came out, whether it was trapped, or who would be waiting for her on the other side. _There's already been one surprise,_ she pondered. _I won't jump right into another one._ As she walked out of the study and down the short hall to the staircase, she wondered who the large man had been. _Obviously,_ she realized,_ he's an elder. He was far too fast to be one of these whelps. But I don't think I've ever seen him._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Downstairs, the remaining guards had met the primogen. Matt noticed immediately that Jenni had apparently trimmed the ranks significantly. He only saw a fraction of the men he would have expected. _She must have killed the others as they guarded the perimeter,_ he realized.

Holden had mustered all of the remaining kindred in the building, remembering that any battles were to be fought downstairs, where the architecture was designed for heavy combat. Hidden stashes of ammunition were located all throughout the first floor, along with several secret passages. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all reinforced to the extent that small explosives could be used safely. Much of the 'antique' furniture, as well, was made up of well-crafted replicas. It had purposely been designed to be seen as decorative, when its true purpose was anything but. Every cushion on the first floor was reinforced with kevlar body armor, which meant that ever piece of furniture could effectively be used as cover from an attacker. Every mirror concealed a claymore mine behind it, rigged to add the glass to the shrapnel from the explosive. Predetermined areas of the rooms were designed to offer cover from these explosions, while other areas were certain to be completely fragged. This was where Matt planned to make his stand.

Reimer knew he would only have a handful of seconds before Jenni arrived from upstairs, and he had no time to inform everyone of the building's defenses. From what he could see, the rest of the kindred were not even close to be ready to offer resistance. He looked at his clan, and knew that only his own men were prepared to fight immediately. Marcus grinned at him, and Holden winked, each man showing how comfortable they were with the situation. They might have been fighting an unbeatable enemy, but at least they were fighting. There was no more guessing, no more thinking to be done. The Telemon were men of action. This is what they did best.

"Get them ready!" Matt shouted at Thorne, hoping the elder had been in enough scraps during his life to know how to organize a decent defense. From what Matt figured, any elder that had lived for millennia was either better than most at kicking ass, or had spent a lot of time running away. The Telemon just hoped against hope that Thorne was of the former variety, though after the way Jenni had incapacitated the giant, Matt had his doubts. "Now we give them time," Matt said to Marcus. The older Telemon simply nodded in understanding as Ronnie Striker and Brad Armstrong ran into the room. At that moment, Jenni walked to the top of the staircase, glaring down menacingly at them all.

"Seems dinner is served," she said pleasantly, eyeing up the vampires as if they were her own private buffet. She then ran down the stairs in a flash, her body little more than a blur. Each of the Telemon opened up with his MP5, but to no avail. While Vidria could not outrun a bullet, she was able to move faster than any of the Telemons' ability to aim their weapons. She was in the midst of the kindred warriors before they knew what was happening.

She struck the last Telemon ghoul first, ripping out his heart with her right clawed hand as she used her left to sever Holden's arm. The ex-SEAL crumpled to the floor, overcome with the pain, just in time to have Jenni drive the ghoul's heart through the back of his skull. Vidria then looked at Striker and smiled, thinking about the damage the man could do with his M-60. _Destroy them all,_ the child thought, directing the command toward Striker's mind. Many kindred were able to use spoken words to control another, but Jenni was old enough so that she needed only think about the action. In an instant, Ronnie Striker was bent to her will and turned on the vampires that Thorne was trying to organize. He fired first at the huge Methuselah, knocking Thorne to the ground as he riddled the massive vampire's body with bullet holes. Then he spread his fire to the others, shredding many of the guards that had been on duty in the Compound. K.T., a veteran of countless gunfights, had the presence of mind to leap behind a couch and bring his Ruger to bear. He knew he would probably only get one shot at the Telemon, and would have to make it count.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the Telemon's line broken instantly, and the younger vampires already at work against each other as a result of her domination, Vidria continued her massacre of the remaining grunts. Marcus realized that standard Telemon strategy had failed, and he would have to reorganize his men. As the Telemon expected to always be outnumbered, they utilized Navy SEAL tactics of a violent initial assault on a foe, intended to disorient and cause fear and error. Jenni had not been affected, and had in fact been able to offer an instant counter-attack. Marcus fired once with his combat shotgun, but the phosphorous round only grazed Jenni's shoulder, leaving a slightly singed mark on her flesh. The elder did not seem to notice. Instead she turned to Matt. Before the primogen could drop his MP5 and draw his Glock, a weapon more suitable for close-quarter fighting, Vidria had kicked his right leg with enough force to fold his femur over on itself. Each splintered end of the bone tore through Matt's thigh, and he screamed in pain.

Behind the remaining Telemon, K.T. took his shot, blasting away half of Striker's cranium with a single round. The Telemon still stood firing his weapon, but he appeared unable to aim. He remained still as Cash ran up and tore the soldier's head from his shoulders, ending the threat. Thorne was shouting quick orders to the remaining kindred, ignoring the distraction that Vidria had provided by turning Striker. He knew that the Telemon had bought him valuable seconds, but he doubted it would be enough. It appeared as if the Telemons' sacrifice would be in vain. None of the remaining kindred was used to working with the others. Thorne was left with a force that was powerful on an individual level, but which would take years to fight as a unit. Even if he could drive off the other elder, he knew, it was unlikely that she would be destroyed. She would simply have the opportunity to complete her carnage in another week. He had to stop her there and then, but had no idea how it would be possible. He silently mouthed a few words to the Fates, and continued to assemble his forces. If nothing else, he would put up an epic fight.

Amongst the Telemon, Vidria was unconcerned with Thorne's preparations. She knew that no one could ever destroy her. True, she admitted, there was greater resistance than she had met in centuries, but that only made the confrontation that much more interesting. In a burst of speed that only seemed to increase Vidria's already blurred movement, the child turned back to Marcus, ripped the shotgun from his grasp, and fired twice at Matt, putting two charred holes in the Telemon primogen's abdomen. Reimer screamed in pain, but still lived. He tried to drag his broken, scorched body away from Vidria, but the elder was too quick for him. She stomped down on his left knee, flattening the joint against the floor and sending bone fragments through the soldier's flesh.

"Enough of this shit," Marcus muttered as he grabbed a hold of Jenni's shoulder. He squeezed with all his might while he transformed his fingers into talons with the strength of railroad ties. He burrowed into Jenni's skin, and the child howled in pain, realizing immediately that she had been incorrect in assuming the primogen of the clan was the strongest one present.

_Very clever indeed,_ she thought. _Even in combat against a superior foe, they're scheming. They seem to fear nothing. So much the better. Their voices will sing beautifully in my mind._ She backhanded Marcus with a lightning fast strike, her supernatural strength allowing her to break every bone in the kindred's face as he was sent sailing fifteen feet across the room. Marcus' body only stopped when it impacted against the wall, the force of the blow cracking the reinforced wall. _Now help me destroy my enemies,_ she ordered, adding the injured Telemon Judge Advocate General to her ranks.

With rage in her eyes, Jenni turned back to finish off Matt, only to find Armstrong standing before her, cutting her off from her prize. She realized too late that he was holding a combat shotgun, which was leveled at her chest. The Telemon fired, and the phosphorous round burned a hole in Jenni's midsection. The child fell to the floor, convulsing once as she let out a short gasp.

It seemed as if time stood still for an eternity. Everyone in the room simply looked down at Jenni's body, amazed at how suddenly the battle had ended. Brad dropped his weapon and turned to see how Matt was doing. Though the Telemon primogen still lived, he was completely incapacitated. Brad took out his knife and slit his arm open, planning to give Matt as much blood as the primogen needed to survive. Armstrong then bent over near his commander, and saw a look of fear like none he had ever set his eyes upon. A shadow fell briefly across Matt's body, and Brad whirled, knowing in his heart what his mind had not yet registered. Somehow, Jenni had survived. The last thing Brad Armstrong ever saw was Holden's body being swung at him, wielded like a weapon by their enemy.

Vidria roared with lust and rage as Holden's body struck Brad's. The momentum was great enough to tear Armstrong's torso in half, spilling the Telemon's insides all over the floor. Blood sprayed across everyone as Jenni's roar became a maddened cackle.

"There is a reason elders are feared," she spat at the surviving kindred standing against her. "We cannot be killed. The pathetic weapons of science hold no power over us. To defeat us, one must have the strength within them."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," a new voice said in a thick German accent. Every eye looked to the front door, where three men were standing. One of them everyone recognized. Johnny Yashida had arrived at the fight, and he had brought two friends with him.

"I'm here for my clanmates," Johnny growled, trying to seem as threatening as he could be. He doubted he was having the desired affect, mostly because he could not believe that his own terror was not played out clearly across his face. He had truly never seen anything more intimidating than the thirteen-year old child that stood in the center of the room, showered in blood with her torn and singed clothes barely hanging on her.

"I won't miss you this time," Vidria hissed at Yashida, ignoring the two men that accompanied him.

"I have come to deliver unto all of you the good death," Heinrich announced stoically. He surveyed the room for a moment, attempting to figure out exactly who might pose the greatest threat. He knew his brother would provide enough of a diversion to make his analysis possible. The kindred would not be attacking the mages at any time in the near future. Of that he was certain.

Kiefer also looked the room over briefly, nodded, and threw up his arms. Unlike his brother he was not looking for a specific target. He needed only to locate the widest area of the room, so that his magic would provide as large an amount of destruction as possible. It was not necessary that he kill many in his initial assault. He only needed to cause chaos. The mage had found that fire did an excellent job of fulfilling that requirement where vampires were concerned. In a flash a fireball formed directly in front of the mage and roared across the room, disintegrating Toby and igniting everything and everyone else in its path. Many of the remaining younger kindred were immediately driven into the Rötschreck, and began to dart around the room in unreasoning terror. Yashida took the opportunity to race out of the entryway and into the mansion, using his blood to power his movements as fast as was supernaturally possible.

As the fireball struck the opposite wall, it detonated into a shower of sparks and embers. The room shook, and Heinrich grinned as he utilized his magic. The tremors caused by the fireball jarred the detonator on one of the claymores, and it exploded, sending shrapnel and shards of glass through the air. Several of the younger kindred were cut down where they stood. Only the older vampires, the ones that had been in the meeting upstairs, still remained.

Jenni took a brief step back, realizing immediately that she was confronted by wizards, the masters of the arcane. While she was more than confident in her ability to defeat any of her own kind, she had always made certain to steer clear of mages. They had abilities she could not understand, no less begin to match. She decided that her one and only chance at victory lay in her speed, which she utilized to close the distance to the newcomers. The remaining kindred cut her off, however.

"Are you ok, Marcus?" Johnny asked as he reached his brother. "We have to get the hell out of here."

"We're not running," Marcus replied. "This battle is not over. We can still win."

"Are you crazy?" Johnny asked. "Even if we kill Jenni, there are two vampire hunting mages here. They'll kill us if we stay. This is not a battle we can win. We have to leave."

"Any battle can be won," Marcus replied stubbornly. "I refuse to believe in the unbeatable foe."

Johnny grabbed his brother by the head, and turned Marcus' gaze right at Jenni, who was busy redecorating the room with Julian's intestines. "See her?" the small Telemon asked. "That's the unbeatable enemy. "We've done our part, now it's time to flee and live to fight another day."

"No," Marcus replied sternly. "We stay."

"Where's Matt?" Johnny asked, deciding that he would get nowhere trying to change Marcus' mind. He would still have to get his childe out, however.

"Over there," Marcus replied, gesturing across the room. Johnny turned and scanned the burning room, looking for his childe, when he felt Marcus' survival knife plunge into his back. "You shouldn't have chosen to support the loser," Marcus stated. "I'm going with the winner, and you're gonna be made extinct."

Yashida turned with a look of shock on his face, not sure whether he was more surprised that his brother had stabbed him, or that the knife had not pierced his heart. He realized quickly that Marcus was not acting of his own volition. He had been dominated. Johnny guessed that Marcus had been ordered to oppose Jenni's foes. However, the exact manner of that opposition was left to the dominated kindred. Marcus would not be able to fight the compulsion to destroy Jenni's enemies. However, she had never said that he would have to kill them as quickly and efficiently as possible. If he wanted to take his time fighting Yashida, there would be nothing she could do to change his mind unless she dominated him again. As it was, Jenni was too busy to notice Marcus' resistance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenni looked at her opposition, and decided that K.T. would make an ideal ally. She did not know him at all, but could surmise that he was with the elder. She was not certain she could dominate Thorne, and so decided to subjugate his apprentice, instead. _Take the large man out,_ she ordered. She streaked across the room as K.T. emptied his barrel into Thorne's back, throwing the elder off-balance and preventing him from meeting Vidria's charge. As soon as Jenni had reached the group of younger kindred, she began slicing. She knew the only way to avoid being overwhelmed by superior numbers was to cripple as many as she could in as little a time as possible. She slashed Cash first, almost tearing the Gangrel's left arm from the rest of his body. She made certain the wound was not fatal, however. She had not given up her special plans for her bitch. Without waiting for a reaction from the stunned Gangrel, she swiped across Julian's midsection, and the prince immediately doubled over, trying to hold in the organs that had ceased being of any use over a century before. As Jenni had expected, Daedalus dove to Luna's side as soon as the Ventrue fell. The Nosferatu would protect his prince. Patrick had switched his attention from the child to K.T., realizing that their rear was under attack. In the instant that was available to her, Vidria bent over in a flash and took the hatchet from Thorne's hands. The elder knew she would be aiming for his neck, and rolled as quickly as possible, getting ten feet away in a heartbeat. For a moment Vidria considered pursuing her prey, but thought better of it. Instead, she took a swing and removed Patrick's head from its shoulders. The Tremere's blood sprayed out and burned Jenni's flesh as it touched her. She cursed under her breath as she looked at her scorched arm, reminding herself too late that it was foolish to ever expect a Tremere to die quietly. In one fluid motion, she then did a back spring into a series of three back flips so that she could clear herself from her enemies and deal with the most pressing threat – magic. She smiled as she raised the hatchet again and brought the two mages into her sights.

Thorne gasped slightly as he realized what the other kindred had in mind. He had hoped to corner her, to force her into a fight. The Methuselah knew all too well that Jenni had no idea how strong he was. Now, however, she was evading him. She would strike first at the mages, and then deal with him. The large kindred decided to step back momentarily. He would not push the fight now. He would take the few seconds he had been offered and use them to reform his forces. _Let the mages be damned,_ he thought, recognizing them as hunters of his kind. _They deserve anything they get for coming into this fight. Vidria can burn herself out fighting them, making it that much easier for me to do my job._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Heinrich and Kiefer had cast their original effects, they had to wait a moment to see how many targets still remained. All they saw for certain was a blur of motion in front of them. Both men were experienced hunters, and knew that their enemies were employing the vampiric ability of supernatural speed. Being mortal, the wizards knew they would never be able to keep up. They were sitting ducks unless they could catch every vampire in the room in a large area effect, like another fireball. Neither one, not even Heinrich, a mystical master of the random elements of chance, was willing to count that much on luck. A different approach would be needed. Each man began to utilize his minor skills of time and mind magic. Though they could not move any faster than a normal man, they could alter the kindreds' perception of time. The vampires would no longer move as fast. Instead, the undead would perceive the mages as finally keeping up with their unnatural pace.

It had been no more than fifteen seconds after the fireball detonated when the brothers began their next spell, but Heinrich was interrupted as he was struck with the hatchet Vidria had thrown with superhuman strength. The large mage dropped like a stone to the floor. Kiefer immediately abandoned his spell and knelt at his brother's side. _Tristan,_ he thought. _Heinrich was hit. He's dying. You have to get in here._

I know, came the response. _I'm already on my way in._

Kiefer hoped that his brother would hold on long enough. The hatchet had gone straight into the center of Heinrich's chest, appearing to have sliced the sternum in half lengthwise. The smaller mage pressed down on the gaping wound, hoping in vain that he could stop the flowing blood, and somehow keep Heinrich's spirit from abandoning its body.

Once Vidria had incapacitated the mages, she turned back to the kindred. Thorne, who had taken advantage of the momentary lapse in combat, had burned more of his blood increasing his strength and physical coordination. He knew he was as ready as he would ever be, and promptly tackled her. The large kindred hoped that his sheer size and augmented strength would give him some degree of an advantage against his smaller foe. He realized immediately that his hopes had been misplaced. She cut into his stomach, and he grew his own hands into claws and began to sheer through her left arm. Realizing her arm would soon be severed if she did not act swiftly, Vidria pulled her legs up against her chest, braced her feet against Thorne, and kicked as hard as she could. Thorne was sent flying into the air, smacking his back against the ceiling twenty-five feet up.

As he fell to the floor he caught Kiefer's eye, immediately noticing the mage's pain and rage. When the elder landed, he rolled for cover, knowing that the wizard was probably moments from decimating the entire building. He had seen what Kiefer's first fireball had done to Toby, and Thorne had no desire to end millennia of life by being vaporized in the blink of an eye. Vidria would have to wait.

K.T. suddenly felt Jenni's hold on him end as suddenly as it had begun. _Now get your ass in motion and take the bitch out,_ he heard a voice say in a thin lilt. The Gangrel looked around, but was unable to figure out what had happened. All that he knew for certain was that he was free to act again on his own, and he caught sight of the child vampire as he slammed shut his newly loaded cylinder. He then acted, emptying the rounds from his Ruger as he lunged at the elder. He dropped on top of Vidria before she could stand, and immediately went to work with his claws, trying to finish the job Thorne had started. Jenni would have none of it, however. She grasped the Gangrel firmly in her hands, stood, and then drove his back down over her knee, snapping K.T.'s spine and severing the spinal cord so severely that the Gangrel did not know how to even begin using his blood to heal the injury. He lay on the floor, completely vulnerable. He looked at Jenni's enraged eyes, and then shut his own, confident that he did not want to see his end when it arrived. It never did.

Just as Jenni was about to sink her fangs into K.T.'s throat, she was knocked back by a series of shotgun blasts. She turned to face her attacker as she reeled backwards, and chastised herself for having overlooked a crucial element of the battle. _The other elder's apprentice was able to break my hold. He could never have done that alone. Someone must have done it for him. They would probably have done it for the Telemon, too. How could I have been so careless?_ She had known that she had not killed Marcus Dietrich. The next thought that raced through her head was pain. The shotgun shells were phosphorous, and each one burned her. She realized with horror that her supply of blood had run dangerously low. She was losing her ability to absorb damage, and would not be able to heal any wounds for much longer. She would have to feed very soon.

Marcus grinned as he sent Jenni backward with his blasts, but when she hit the wall and his supply of ammunition was exhausted, she began to stride back toward him. _That's impossible,_ Marcus thought. _Nothing can take that kind of punishment and survive._ The Telemon Judge Advocate General had been in countless battles since he had been embraced, and he had never seen a kindred take more than three hits from phosphorous shotgun shells and still survive. He had just fired six into Jenni, at near point blank range, and she was still coming. _And she looks very hungry_, Marcus realized fearfully.

Vidria licked her lips as she noticed blood running from Marcus' chest, the result of several gunshot wounds taken at close range. She shot across the room at the Telemon and grabbed him by the throat, then sank her fangs in and began to drink deeply. The brief, insignificant resistance that Marcus initially offered ceased as soon as her teeth had penetrated his skin. Then he was overcome with the euphoria of the kiss. She drained him dry, knocking him into torpor, and decided to finish the Telemon this time, rather than simply trust that domination would remove him from the fight. She inhaled deeply and drank more fully, beginning to take his very life essence from him. At that moment, Julian and Daedalus returned to the fight. Julian body-blocked Marcus out of Jenni's grasp as Daedalus raked across the back of her leg with his claws, hoping to hamstring her. The Nosferatu failed. Jenni turned on him and drove her fist into his face, knocking him down and stunning him. She knew she would need at least a few seconds to mend her wounds, and set about once again turning her enemies against one another.

_Kill each other,_ she ordered, and Daedalus immediately shifted his gaze away from Jenni and toward Julian. In a single motion he stood and lunged at the prince, driving his claws into Julian's belly. Luna looked at Daedalus with rage, and backhanded his advisor with vengeance in his eyes. Gone were any thoughts of loyalty and comradery. He was suddenly more than willing to flay the skin from the Nosferatu's bones.

Julian drew one of his .45's from his shoulder holster and fired at Daedalus with wild abandon. He put enough bullets through the Nosferatu's face to leave a large crater both in the front of his skull, where the initial impact of the bullets shattered bone and tore flesh, and in the back, where exit wounds sprayed Daedalus' brains across the room. One of Daedalus' eyes remained intact, and flicked around randomly, as if it was trying to see anything that would allow his mind to make sense of the pain he was feeling. He was still alive, but was little more than a vegetable. He could feel, but could not understand. As far as Vidria was concerned, the ability to experience what she planned to do was satisfying enough. Her victim did not need to comprehend. She maintained her control, and kept Julian completely still, entranced by the view that she wished to offer him.

Jenni bent over Daedalus and drove her fist through his abdomen, grabbing the Nosferatu's spine. With a squeeze of her hand, powered by supernatural strength, she compressed the Nosferatu's spinal cord to the point that his legs became paralyzed, and his intermittent spasms ceased completely. Had Daedalus even had his senses about him enough to offer a defense, he would not have been able to raise a hand to in time. Jenni drove her free hand into the remnants of Daedalus' face and through his skull, smashing blood and brain matter out the back of the deformed cranium. The Antediluvian was almost certain that the Nosferatu primogen had been extinguished, but she was not willing to take chances with a foe that could cause her injury if given time to heal. Before returning to give the prince her undivided attention, she exhaled sharply on Daedalus' head, and a thin green mist spewed forth from her mouth and settled on the Nosferatu's skin. In a matter of seconds his flesh began to wither and crack, and then began to dissolve into dust. Julian Luna looked on, still entranced, unable to comprehend that his friend of decades had been disintegrated before his very eyes. Once Vidria was certain that Julian had seen enough, she dropped her control.

"No!" Julian screamed as Vidria allowed the prince his own thoughts once again, permitting him to realize what he had done. He drew his other .45 and began to blaze away with both weapons, this time choosing the child as the target of his wrath. Again Vidria was knocked back by the rounds, but this time she was not injured. The prince's bullets were not phosphorous, and did not burn. Once his ammunition was spent she ran at him, but Julian was ready. He raised his leg and kicked her in the stomach as he rolled back, throwing her clear across the room. Vidria was enraged.

"Fool," she shrieked. "No one gets away with that." She raised her hand, and a small globe of fire appeared in her palm. She threw it at Luna, and the prince was unable to dodge. When the fiery globe hit him it burst in a flash of flame that consumed Julian's entire torso instantly. His clothes burned, and the Rötschreck overcame him. 

_Stop, drop, and roll,_ a voice said in the back of his head. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Julian knew that the injury he had sustained was not mortal. He could escape the flames and continue to fight. He could defeat this child. The voice of reason was drowned out by his cries of terror, however, and his reason was lost in the middle of his panic. The primal fear of the beast within had defeated the cool humanity that Julian had nurtured for so many years.

Seeing that Julian was unable to gather his wits about him, and was thus an open target, Vidria ran up to the prince and grabbed him by the throat. "Now's the perfect time," she whispered in his terrified ear, using only a fraction of her strength to pin his smoldering body on the floor. "Draining you while you're in the Rötschreck provides a special taste. It's a delicacy, actually." The child tore out Julian's throat and began to feed, oblivious to the fact that the flames on his body were singing her clothes. While the flames could burn her as they could any other of her kind, Vidria was an ancient, and the years had made her more resistant to fire than were most other vampires. The dwindling flames on Julian's Armani jacket posed no significant threat to her existence.

Perhaps the one thing remaining in the structure that could pose any danger to Vidria was Thorne, and he had gathered himself for yet another assault on the Antediluvian. _I am a Methuselah,_ he reminded himself. _Many before me have destroyed those of the third generation. Why should I be any different?_ Even as Vidria finished with Julian, Thorne arrived, intent on delivering hell to the other elder. He picked up Marcus' dropped, empty shotgun, and swung it at Vidria's head. When he connected, he heard the sickening, though satisfying, sound of the child's skull cave in. Vidria hit the floor and rolled over to confront her attacker, but Thorne's assault had left her groggy. She could hardly offer any resistance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Help him," Kiefer commanded as Tristan raced into the building. "Keep him alive."

"I'll do my best," the Irishman replied. He looked over Heinrich's body, and his first instinct was that there was no hope. _Sometimes the best way to heal a wound is to prevent it from happening,_ he reminded himself, remembering the teachings of Master Finnegan so many years ago. _If we stay here, we're inviting further injury. We should leave. Now._ "I can't promise anything," Tristan said to his fellow mage. "But you have to keep things clear for me. Destroy everything in the building. Spare no one. Bugger the paradox, Kiefer. This is not the time to worry about what will happen later. Act now or there won't be a later."

Kiefer needed no encouragement. He nodded in reply and stood, surveying the carnage in front of him. The mage was amazed that the structure was still standing, seeming to defy all laws of logic. The kindred, he noticed, were still fighting amongst each other. _Now it ends,_ he thought savagely. _Fuck the paradox!_

As soon as he noticed that Kiefer was ready to resume his attack on the vampires, Tristan turned back to Heinrich. If there was any hope for the German Entropist, it lay in having a master of healing that was able to sever himself from his surroundings, to make certain that there were no distractions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the room, Johnny finally gathered enough strength to raise his head from the floor. He had never thought that he would be forced to battle Marcus, and now hoped that he would never have to do so again. When he had been stabbed, his first thought was to run. He knew, however, that leaving would probably allow Matt to be destroyed. He would not allow his childe to be extinguished. He released the clip in his Beretta and loaded another, the last extra magazine he had with him. The other three had been emptied into his brother, and all together had done little more than slow Marcus down. In the end, Johnny had been forced to dominate his brother, to trick him into believing that he had been destroyed. Yashida knew that such a course of action was risky. First, he was uncertain as to whether or not anyone in his clan should know that he had diablerized while investigating some stories in Baton Rouge. No one knew he had raised his generation while feeding on a Sabbat bishop, and an increase in his power could be perceived as a violation of the Telemon clan's strict hierarchy. He was now perhaps equal in generation to his own sire, a situation that violated one of the clan's basic tenets. Beyond that, however, he did not know how Siras would react if he ever discovered that Johnny had been using his mind dominating powers against other members of his own clan. He had been given no choice, he knew. He could never have stood toe to toe with Marcus. He had been forced to use more subtle tactics, and even then he had only achieved a chance to escape, and not a victory. He did not know if his sire would accept the argument of mitigating circumstances. He resolved to increase his crime later if he needed to, and simply alter Marcus' memories of the fight.

As Johnny scanned the room, he saw Kiefer stand and look around. The Telemon could see from across the room that Heinrich was probably dead, and he was afraid of what a grief-stricken mage would do to gain retribution. Yashida hit the floor and rolled behind a couch, pulling Matt's body along behind him.

The attack was sudden, and brutal. Lightning arced from the mage's hand, seeming to strike everybody in the room. The bolts of electricity bounced continuously, sending virtually everyone to the floor. Even Thorne was knocked from his feet. Then the mage screamed, and the situation went from bad to worse. Another fireball erupted from his hands, followed by another, and another. The oak walls ignited instantly under the fiery assault, and Johnny knew the Compound was doomed. He used his ability to control shadow, and kept darkness flowing over his eyes. He knew that if he saw the flames, he risked succumbing to the Rötschreck. If that happened, all was lost.

Cries of pain and terror emanated from the thick, concealing smoke, and Yashida knew the few that still survived were now being burned alive. The mage had set fire to every side of the room. There would be no escape. He dimmed his own shadow, and saw the flames everywhere. He felt the skin on his face begin to blister. _I have to get out of here._ He knew his body would begin to burn in a matter of seconds, but he needed to rescue his clanmates. He knew Matt was still alive, and also knew that Jenni had not had time to diablerize Marcus. The Judge Advocate General was still alive, though in torpor. Yashida realized with horror that he had two survivors, but only enough time to save one of them.

For a brief second he considered flipping a coin, but decided against it. He would have to justify his decision to himself later. His favorite, most successful childe died, or his one living blood brother died. He had to choose. In a flash he made up his mind. Moments later he lifted the body in his arms and burned his blood to create a shadow in the room. As he had at Fort Point, he jumped into the portal of darkness, hoping he would have the strength to carry his clanmate through the realm of shadows to the front yard, where he would be able to flee the scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once outside, Johnny looked back and wondered how anyone could even still be in one piece inside. He looked at his own skin and noticed the blisters and burns. Only then did the pain set in, and he doubled over, trying to put the agony out of his mind. He was physically and emotionally drained, and he knew he was still in danger. He saw the silhouettes of the mages walking away from the front door. Two men walked, one of them holding Heinrich's body. Yashida wondered if his associate had survived, but knew better than to risk going up to ask.

For the time being, Yashida carried his fallen clanmate back to his car on the perimeter, and hoped simply to get to a safe haven before the sun came up. The next night would give him all the time he needed to find out who had and had not survived the battle.

****

Epilogue

Cash stopped his motorcycle in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge, immediately earning the hatred of the driver of the Mercedes that had been following him. The Gangrel flipped off the motorist, and then took a moment to look back at the city he had called home for so long. In the past ten years, he had only left San Francisco three times, and each of his vacations had been rather short. It was the way of his clan, he knew, to never put down roots for too long. Perhaps that had been the mistake of San Francisco's Gangrel residents. They had strayed from their heritage.

Whatever the reason for the Gangrels' mistake, the ultimate price had been paid. Cash was now all that was left of a citywide Gangrel population that had, at times, numbered over three dozen. He had rebuilt his clan twice in recent years, but he would not do so again. He had grown tired of seeing his progeny cut down before his eyes. The Gangrel started to ride along again, finally growing more comfortable with his decision. _Living in the city for too long has made me soft,_ he thought. _It's time to look around, to see what there is to see._ The city faded into the distance behind him as he rode into Oakland, determined to ride until just before sunrise. He wanted to get as far as he could, so that he could forever forget the horrors that he had seen that night. Cash had no idea who had survived the battle at the Telemon Compound, and who had not. _Perhaps I'll be seeing some of them again,_ he mused. _I just hope that Jenni isn't one of the ones I see._

------------------------

Still in San Francisco, another Gangrel was grateful to be alive. K.T. hobbled slowly to the pickup trick that Johnny Yashida had provided to him. The Gangrel wanted to leave San Francisco as soon as possible, but he was in no shape to be riding a motorcycle. Instead, his Indian bike was in the back of the truck, and Erica was trusted to do the driving.

"Can you get in ok?" Erica asked, not bothering to hide her concern. Erica had seen K.T. stand up to incredibly powerful foes over the years they had been together. He had always been able to walk away. This time, he had not. She had no idea how he had made it back to their apartment. All she did know is that she had to carry him inside before the sun had come up. His spine had been shattered, and he had been left paralyzed. Even now, after a day of rest and a large supply of blood to heal his spinal injury, K.T. could still not walk without a cane.

"I'm fine," K.T. muttered in response. He grimaced in pain as he stepped up into the truck, but Erica ignored the expression. She knew her companion was proud, and would not like to have her point out any sign of weakness. "Let's just get going," the Gangrel suggested. "We only have about six hours until the sun comes up."

"Sure thing," Erica answered. She started the truck and pulled away, immediately heading for Golden Gate Bridge. She could not even imagine what had happened to K.T. All he had said was that he had been in a fight. _As if I couldn't have figured out that much on my own,_ she thought.

Erica had seen K.T. fight Assamites, Malkavian assassins, Sabbat Templars, battle-hardened Gangrel, and Baali sorcerers. He had never backed down. He had never shown fear. Tonight, she knew, he was afraid. Too often lately, Erica felt, K.T. had gone off on secret little missions, almost as if he had an agenda that he was not sharing with her. She decided that his secrecy would have to end. After seeing what happened to him this time, Erica knew she would never again be comfortable while K.T. was out of her sight. There was no telling what would happen next time he got into a fight.

Erica pressed down on the accelerator, speeding through traffic on the highway. She wanted K.T. to be able to relax, and she knew that getting out of the Bay Area was the first step in making that possible. _Besides,_ she thought,_ K.T. had said it was no longer safe in San Francisco, that it was now a closed city_. Erica had no idea what that meant, but she was certain that it was not good. All she knew for sure was that her guide to the supernatural world had demanded that they leave. She would comply. After all, there were plenty of other adventures to be found elsewhere.

------------------------

"Good, you're finally awake," Johnny said as he saw Marcus Dietrich open his eyes.

"What happened?" the larger Telemon asked weakly.

"We retreated," Yashida said. Johnny knew his brother would not be happy with his decision, but there was little he could do about it now. Neither of them could go back in time to the previous night and change what had happened.

"How bad were our losses?" Marcus asked.

_Ever the soldier,_ Johnny mused. _He's been awake for ten seconds, and already he's trying to figure out our tactical situation._ "We lost everyone but you and me," Yashida said. "At least from our clan, that is. I think a few others made it out, but I'm not sure."

"Everyone?" Marcus asked. "How did I get out?"

"I got you out past the fire," Johnny explained.

"I don't remember a fire."

"You were driven into torpor before that," Yashida said. "One of the mages went apeshit and started throwing fireballs around. The few that were still alive at that point mostly went crazy because of the flames. The ones that held it together still had to get past Jenni. It was a bloodbath."

"We even lost Matt?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Johnny replied, offering no details. He did not feel like admitting that he had consciously chosen to allow his childe to die so that he could save his brother. It was a decision that Johnny knew was correct, but that did not sit well with him. Yashida was Telemon, and was finally understanding what that meant. In combat, difficult choices sometimes needed to be made. _Hopefully_, he thought, _Marcus finally learned the lesson that an unbeatable foe is a possibility, especially for ones such as us. As for me, I learned that cutting losses is crucial. The clan was going to lose someone important. I had to make sure we kept the more valuable asset, and that was Marcus. Personal feelings have no place on the battlefield._ Yashida made a point not to mention the fact that Marcus had appeared to be dominated during the battle. The large kindred would doubtlessly feel awkward about the subject. Both knew that Dietrich would address the subject eventually, but it had to be done in his own time. Marcus was strong physically, and would have a hard time adjusting to the fact that a lack of complete mental discipline had led to chaos in battle.

"How long was I out?" Marcus asked.

"Just for the day," Johnny answered. Again he offered no details. He knew that when a kindred was driven into torpor, it could be a very long time before the Cainite awakened. Some had been known to take years to recover consciousness. There was a rumor among some that the blood of an elder could awaken a vampire instantly. Johnny smiled as he stuffed a small glass vial in his pocket, and filed away in his mind the information that the rumor happened to be true. K.T. had provided what he had claimed was the blood of an elder, in this case, Thorne. In return, Johnny had given K.T. a new vehicle he could use until he healed sufficiently, along with ten thousand dollars in cash and fake identification. Yashida knew his Gangrel friend would disappear, and he planned to do likewise. He simply needed to ensure first that Marcus would be able to fend for himself.

"I'm hungry," Marcus said, stating the obvious. He had been completely deprived of blood during the battle. It was when he had been dried up that he had fallen unconscious. Now he would have to feed.

"I know just the place for you," Johnny said evenly. "Michelle is there now, scouting everything out. Once you've drunk your fill, I'll take you to the airport. You have a ticket waiting for you. You'll go as far as St. Louis, where there's a room for you at the airport Hilton. Tomorrow night you can go the rest of the way to State College. There's a private charter that will be waiting for you."

"And where are you going?" Marcus asked, having noticed that his brother had not included himself in the soldier's itinerary.

"An old friend asked me to help him move," Yashida replied with a sly grin. Marcus knew immediately that there was once again a secret that he was not being let in on. "Once I'm done helping him, I'll go back home. I promise. I think I need to rest. At least with Siras, I should be safe for awhile. I want to put this all behind me."

"Sure," Marcus replied as he pulled himself into a seated position. "So how long?"

"I'll be there within a week," Yashida said. "Maybe two. I plan on driving it, instead of taking a plane. I just want to get away from it all. Driving cross-country helps clear the mind and refresh the soul."

"Sure," Marcus answered. _It also helps you find lots of things you can do to get yourself into trouble._ He kept his thoughts from his brother, and decided that he would probably not be seeing Johnny for some time. He had gotten used to Yashida disappearing once in awhile. This would probably be one of those times. He knew Johnny would eventually show up._ It'll probably be when he needs money, too,_ Marcus thought with a thin smile. "So where are we going?" Marcus asked.

"A little place called the Pierce Street Annex," Johnny said, a mischievous smile beginning to form on his face. "It's not exactly the kind of club you'd like, but the feeding is as easy as pie." Johnny stood and helped his brother to his feet. He knew that Marcus would not seriously expect him to show up in State College anytime soon. Siras would have questions, a lot of them. Johnny would be called upon to account for the deaths of Matt and all of his progeny, as well as explain why and how he was able to pull Marcus from the burning building. None of that sounded like fun to the small Telemon, but he needed to feel safe, and he felt that he could only get that feeling in State College, at the feet of his sire. Marcus would be surprised.

------------------------

Thorne typed slowly, making sure he did not hit any wrong keys. The fingers on his left hand were still numb, suffering from nerve damage caused by fire. The flesh would mend itself in a day or so, he knew. He simply needed time. The old Methuselah simply hoped that time was a luxury he had. He had returned to the Telemon Compound earlier in the evening to examine the scene, and had retrieved sensitive documents from the fire marshal and coroner's office. There had not been a child's body recovered from the ashes. _Of course,_ the old vampire acknowledged, _there were many bodies that were not recovered._ Those that had been near some of the explosives had been all but disintegrated in detonations caused by the fire. The true body count would never be known.

Thorne was concerned, however, that Vidria had escaped. He hoped against hope that she had died, but he knew, of course, that such luck was unlikely. Vidria had lived for millennia, and such achievement was not likely to be thrown away in one night of recklessness or misfortune. Thorne was all but certain that Vidria had survived. He finished installing a new program in his computer. Once each week, Vidria's file would automatically be brought up on his screen, and he would have to enter a code in order to clear it. That, he hoped, would help prevent him from forgetting her again. The computer could not be affected by Vidria's mystical abilities, and thus would not forget. This time, neither would he.

------------------------

Tristan Reilly walked slowly into Albion, once again reflecting for a moment on the dark mood set by the bar. It was dark, and that suited the Irishman just fine. He had come to San Francisco with incredibly high hopes, but had seen one of his closest friends fall. Heinrich Schacter's war against the kindred had come to a sudden end when a child had hurled a hatchet through his chest. Not even Tristan's considerable skill with healing magic had been able to save the vampire hunter. Now all that was left was to say goodbye to the mages he had met in the city. The Akashic Brother had always made certain that he offended no one when he left their domain. One never knew when it would be necessary to return somewhere.

His eyes scanned the front room as he walked through, noticing the same couple that had been at the bar the first time he had come in. The woman gave him the same attention, but this time Tristan did not care. He found no excitement in the feeling of being desired. He wanted only to leave San Francisco. His one good memory of the city would be Kristin Genetti, and he knew that remembering her would forever remind him of the friend he had lost. He knew that he would even need to forget his garou lover, as he was certain she would eventually forget him. 

Tristan continued on into the back room, already knowing that Hugh was in the building. He could feel the other mage's presence, a slightly perceptible crackle in the air. As he walked into sight of the other wizard, Tristan saw the same three friends that Hugh had been with that first night. Indeed, they all seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes they had then.

"I heard about what happened," Hugh said as he looked up from the pool table, deciding to wait before he shot at the eight ball. "You have my condolences. I hear Heinrich was very powerful. I don't suppose you'd want to take a night to drink with us and drown your sorrows."

"No," Tristan said in his Irish lilt, the accent seeming lighter than it had at any other point in his visit. "I only stopped by to let you know that I'll be leaving. Heinrich's brother already left this morning. You should have far less competition than you did before."

"The garou are still here," Hugh pointed out, "and there are a lot of them. I've heard that this generation produced an unusually high percentage of shapeshifters. Apparently most of them are deformed or something, but they pose a greater threat than they ever have."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Tristan said evenly. "The garou here are almost all Glass Walkers. They are used to working with humans. At least, they're more used to it than the other tribes of their kind are."

"We're not exactly human," Hugh pointed out. "I sure wish you had checked with us before you allied yourself with the lupines. We had been quite content to play them off the kindred and the human gangsters. Now we're the only thing that can oppose them. I don't think it'll be too long before they turn their claws in our direction."

"Like I said, I'm sure you'll manage," Tristan said again. "They saw well enough what mages can do. They'll be in no hurry to go picking a fight. Besides, now that Luna is gone, anarchs will begin filtering into the city. That should keep the lupines busy enough."

"Great, anarchs," Hugh replied with a scowl. That means more Brujah. "Nothing good comes of those bastards."

"Keep in touch," Tristan said as he turned back toward the door. The Irishman knew that despite the complaints, Hugh was perfectly content with the way the situation had turned out. None of the local mages were killed in the conflict, and now there were fewer potential threats. Tristan knew he would be permitted back in the city should he ever need to return. _Not that that should happen anytime in the next fifty years,_ he thought. Once he figured enough time had passed for Heinrich to have died of old age Tristan would be able to put his comrade's death behind him.

------------------------

Vincenzo Gambioni licked the blood from his hands as he completed his transformation from his crinos form. It had been a long time since he had seen action, and he felt reborn. In a matter of a day his soldiers had managed to either destroy or subjugate all organized crime in the city under the Gambioni family's control. It was a feat that the old man knew he could have accomplished at almost any time. Taking the city had not been the problem, though. The challenge was in holding it. Julian Luna would never have allowed anyone to seize his control. Indeed, no prince would. Now, however, there was no prince. Any who came into the city would have to build a base of power, all the while struggling to hold off the established Gambioni family. Vincenzo was now in control. There were few that would ever be able to challenge him.

The mages, of course, were always present. He had never known for certain just how powerful they were, but he had recently found out. Kristen had reported what Tristan had been able to accomplish, and several of his other soldiers had not hidden the terror they felt when they had worked alongside the destructive magic of Kiefer Schacter. More than ever, Vincenzo was certain that he would never cross the paths of mages if it could be avoided. He was thankful that wizards were extremely rare. It would be easy enough to avoid them.

The mortals would never be a threat. They outnumbered old man Gambioni's garou enforcers by incredible amounts, but there was always the delirium. All a werewolf had to do was shift forms, and any human opposition would be paralyzed with fear. As long as they had no idea what they were facing, and thus did not prepare silver weapons, humans would not endanger the garou.

The only problem that Vincenzo could see was the vampires that would doubtlessly filter into San Francisco. Anarch gangs would wage war across the city. Sabbat packs would probably scout out the area and eventually recommend a full-scale siege. The Camarilla would also send in kindred to regain the city, the one stronghold of Camarilla presence in the Western United States. The one thing that Vincenzo had going for him was that the three factions would fight against each other as much as they ever would against him. As long as he kept his enemies divided, he would be able to protect himself.

The old man looked up at the sky and smiled. The moon was nowhere to be seen, and would not be until late into the following night. The new moon was a special time for the garou. It marked the beginning of a cycle, a time when all garou would feel their strength increase, up until the night of the full moon. The city with the Golden Bay had been cleansed out of sight of the moon, just as prophecy had foretold. Of course, the prophecy also warned that control of San Francisco would be short-lived and would come to a violent end. However, in the time that the garou held the city, there would be a gathering of the greatest bards in the world. Apparently, a great truth would be realized and the garou would discover the existence of a weapon that could be used to prevent the Apocalypse. Vincenzo assumed that the stories would all come together to enlighten the heroes that were present. All he had to do now was wait until the time came.

------------------------

Johnny Yashida walked along the bay, allowing himself a few extra moments to enjoy the scenery before he finally moved on. He had a long trip ahead of him, and wanted to get a good portion of it out of the way before the sun rose. Michelle, Mason, and Uiko had gone ahead, and they would be meeting in four nights in Salt Lake City. Until then, he was free to do as he chose. It had been a long time since he had felt this unencumbered.

"You look a little too serious," a voice said from behind. "Used to be you never stopped smiling. Ever since your clan came here, you've done it less and less."

"I know," Johnny replied. "So what name are you going by now?"

"Saxby," the man replied. He laughed at the look he received from the Telemon, and decided he should explain. "It's a harmless sounding name, isn't it? There's just something a lot less slick about it than the last one."

"Now there's nothing wrong with appearing slick," Johnny countered. "You sure no one's gonna recognize you?"

"I'm in disguise," Saxby answered. "Would you ever recognize me if you didn't already know who I was?"

"I guess not," Johnny admitted. He looked his friend over, trying to suppress the smile that formed on his lips. He was miserable, and did not want to feel anything resembling mirth. The 'disguise' was thorough, though. Gone was the long, brown ponytail. Now his friend had most of his hair shaved, leaving only enough for a short, red-dyed Mohawk. The denim jeans that had been a staple of his wardrobe remained, though there were now far more holes than there had been before. Rather than a shirt, he wore a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off. Chains adorned the ensemble, completing the look of a miscreant punk. He would do an excellent job of blending with Brujah anarchs, the inevitable holders of power in the city.

"I heard about Matt," Saxby said, attempting to offer what sympathy he could for Johnny's extinguished childe. "Thorne said he died well. I guess that at least means something to your clan."

"Yeah," Johnny replied evenly. "Matt was special, but there are others ready to step in and take his place. The Telemon are soldiers. For the clan to be effective as an army, there always has to be a fresh supply of bodies to replace those that fall."

"Thorne said all your clanmates fought bravely," Saxby continued. "He has high hopes for the Telemon."

"No he doesn't," Johnny replied. "Thorne knows as well as I do what's going to happen."

"What do you mean?" Saxby asked, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"My clan is strong on an individual level, and has the most organized hierarchy this side of the Tremere," Johnny answered. "But it has one fatal flaw, and someday that will destroy the Telemon. In time I'll probably be the only one left. Mason and Uiko will either go Caitiff or start bloodlines of their own. Michelle will probably get killed as I flee those that hunt me."

"You sure people will hunt you?" Saxby asked. "Paranoid much, are you?"

"The Sabbat knows how powerful my clan's blood is. They'll hunt me," Johnny assured his friend. "Unlike elders, I don't have the abilities of a centuries-old vampire to go with the high generation. Eventually I'll be able to disappear from view, I'm sure of that. I doubt any of the others will be as lucky."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what Thorne said," Saxby admitted. "He didn't want you to know, though. He was afraid that if you felt doomed, you might work to make it happen."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy," Johnny agreed. "Well, you can tell your clanmate that his secret is safe with me. "I'm gonna be the last one to start rumors that my clan just doesn't have what it takes. After seeing Marcus in action, though, I don't think there's much doubt. I didn't even need to see him dominated to figure out the truth."

"So what do you have planned now?" Saxby asked, quickly trying to divert his friend's morbid mood.

"I have to go catch up with Michelle," Johnny replied. "She has a tendency to get in trouble when she's out on the road all alone."

"And you'll be a stabilizing influence?"

"As much as I've always been," Johnny shot back with a slight grin, a hint of his common light mood shining through. "Anyway, we're just going for a short cross-country jaunt. What's the worst that could possibly happen?"

"I don't even want to think about it," Saxby said. "But I'm sure you'll tell me all about it next time we run into each other."

"Whenever that is," Johnny muttered. "That's a story for another day. Take it easy." Without another word, Johnny glanced around, and within moments was wrapped within a swirl of shadow. Even as Saxby watched, Johnny's form vanished from view.

"Good luck," Saxby said to the chilly night air. "I think you'll be needing even more than I do."

Fin

(and this time, I really, really, mean it.)

Well, actually, there'll be a little bit more, sorta kinda in a way...


End file.
